The Cursed Escape
by Sage and Snape
Summary: HP8, Act 3, scene 9 Umbridge just confronted Snape & Scorpius when another runs out:"He knew he would be very dead either way, but he did not want to be away from them when it happened. He would rather a quick torturous end by a dementor than a slow one, ridiculed one, than his classmates bleeding him out or eviscerating him...'Go! With Scorpius!In the lake! It's the only way'"
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: The world is not mine. No infringement intended._

 _In the time-altered world, end of act 3, scene 9…Umbridge has just confronted Snape & Scorpius…_

* * *

As Umbridge drew up with the Dark Arts up ahead, the boy redoubled his speed, running down the path she had taken, a mane of thick, dark hair flying in his wake. It had been spoken of often…if this were ever to happen. The moment the dementors had swarmed off, he knew something was very, _very_ wrong.

They _knew._ That had to be the explanation. There were only so many reasons dementors would swarm.

 _Perhaps it wasn't his parents…_ He had to hope, had to, as selfish as it was to do so. Guilt for the thought was fleeting. He had to find his parents, or at least one of them. His lungs screamed with his sustained speed. _Almost there…_

He knew he would be very dead either way if it was true, but he did not want to be away from them when it happened. He would rather a quick torturous end than a slow one, a ridiculed one, than his classmates bleeding him out or eviscerating him.

Umbridge suddenly went _flying_ past him with the force of a spell.

Maybe they could still get away! Patronuses did work better in concert! His calves screamed with another burst of desperate effort.

Whipping out his wand, he took a great breath and yelled, in a voice that was crackling as it threatened to break from boyhood into more of a baritone, " _Expecto Patronum!"_

A small dragon bounded out of his lengthy wand, surprising for his yet smaller size, but promising he'd be tall like his father and quite the powerful wizard if the Patronus was any indication. Most Death Eaters, most wizards these days, could not conjure a corporeal Patronus, let alone a barely more than 5 foot tall 4th year.

He saw his father's doe Patronus running toward the lake before he saw the man himself, barely holding off dementors. _Why_?

As another figure ran away toward the lake, he yelled, "Dad! Dad!" A few more steps, "What are you doing!" His dragon soared ahead of him, betraying the urgency he wished his own legs could command.

The doe followed the figure toward the lake, and his dragon sent a silvery lick of fire at the dementors, bounding around he and his father in a tight circle.

"Mum?" he gasped, finally grabbing hold of his father as he skid to a stop. His father grabbed his arm with his free hand to steady him from flying right by.

There was a great surge to his Patronus, betraying his memory and his ability to hold the charm was probably closely linked to his father.

The elder man shook his head sadly, to the barely asked question of the fate of his mother. Then, it clicked, like a moment where everything else stopped and the answer came to you.

"You must go, now, son! Go…with Scorpius…in the lake. It is the only way." Severus had once sacrificed Lily's son to try and save the world, he had to be capable of doing the same with his own, but fate seemed to provide him another option.

"What?!" the boy croaked. His own wand arm was already shaking from trying to hold his Patronus around them.

It was hard to keep sadness out, just then, so very hard. He _knew_ what this meant. He _knew_ what he was being asked to do.

"Focus on your memory! Go!" his father said, touching his face softly with his hand briefly. "Obey me in this, before it's too late."

"Y-yes, sir."

"Run, NOW!"

And run he did, forcing himself not to look back, trying to close his mind to the fear that knocked at every entrance to his heart. If the dementors chased him, it would all be for nothing. His father had not taught him to master his own mind for nothing, and his memory was very strong and very practiced.

"Scorpius!" he yelled, barely even feeling his foot falls toward the lake in the darkness, cold nipping at him. "Scorpius wait!" Why he was chasing after Scorpius Malfoy to somehow save him, who was no true friend of his or the Light, truth be told, despite his appearances to be Scorpius' best friend, was beyond him, but his father ordered it, and he did it.

His lungs piercing with exertion from having sprinted so long and so hard to even get out there, he knew what that cold was as he pushed as hard as he could until he saw the glistening of the water, and launched into it. His limbs were still moving like he was running when he crashed into the water hearing a whistling and just barely grabbing a hold of his pseudo-friend before-.

"Scorp-."

And a bang and a flash drowned out his question.

* * *

Cold and wet. He kicked for the top, wand tight in his hand, exhausted by the effort of holding a Patronus for so long, but like his parents one who knew precisely what it meant to fight to the absolute end. Honestly, perhaps a little past the absolute end.

This was _OBVIOUSLY_ a little past the absolute end!

Having just left dementors and having no idea that anything regarding time was involved, the black-haired boy was entirely disoriented and entirely of the belief that he was still in the world where he had just listened to dementors kiss his father and was due a horrid end himself, whilst soaking wet.

He choked on water, holding his wand aloft, another Patronus ready on his lips.

"Scorpius!"

But his _friend_ was not looking at him but yelling for some boy named Albus (what nutter named someone Albus and didn't conceal it!) some feet away. He wiped water from his eyes and coughed, looking around as he kicked at the water to stay up. There were no dementors. He felt no coldness. No misery. It looked…brighter…newer.

Adults began yelling from the shore. He had no idea where they came from or who they were. There had not been that many people about when he had jumped in the lake, he was certain.

 _Am I…Am I dead too?_ How else could the dementors have gone? They had been there for as long as he could remember.

The sudden absence of life-threatening circumstances took away the veil of adrenaline, and he choked for different reasons. That scream replayed in his head, echoing out in the sobs from his mouth. The doe's eyes. His father's hand on his face. On his face for the last time…ever?

His robes made it hard to swim in the water and the weight of reality made it even harder. He flailed and then he choked again. With the water from his thick hair coming down to his face, he did not realize right away they were joined by tears, watery things that he had learned to banish away long ago.

He coughed and blinked his way to the shore as the adults clamored for Scorpius and this Albus who must have been in the water with him. He was not sure where the boy came from; he was not a classmate. He couldn't worry about it though, as he gasped for air on his hands and knees on the shore some yards away.

Suddenly, the adults seemed to notice him, and he recognized only Mr. Malfoy?

Confused glances met him and his soaked, slightly different Slytherin robes.

Cold. He was so cold and tired. "Mr. Malfoy?" he said, before he flopped over sideways and passed out, wand clutched tightly in his hand.

* * *

AN - I have the next two chapters written, so the faster I get some reviews/feedback, the faster I'll post up more!

The only place I intend on stretching the events of HP8 is that Scorpius brings someone back with him, which is stretched, but still technically possible. Everything else will be canon compliant to the best of my ability. Could not resist playing with the idea of time-altered Severus Snape!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Dementors Sucked Out My World

* * *

"Who is he, Scorpius?" Draco asked his son, quietly, as McGonagall trotted over to the newcomer with Harry Potter to the rescue, of course. All Draco knew was that the boy had known his name and his son, and that was curious enough to make him walk over to where Minerva had the boy on his back, still blacked out.

"I don't know, father. He yelled my name and jumped in the lake after me and Professor Snape's doe, the actual Severus Snape, sir! He, his Patronus…is a _big dragon_ ," Scorpius said, jutting his chin toward the form laying on the bank. Clearly, Scorpius was suitably impressed. By Draco's nod to himself, he was impressed as well. The boy could not be any older than Scorpius or Albus, perhaps maybe a bit younger.

"Is he from the past?" Harry asked the Headmistress, worried that there was some other blip in time that the boys had caused that had yet to reveal itself.

Scorpius chimed in, "Erm, no, sir, sideways I think."

"Mr. Malfoy, you've taken a whole person out of their world and brought them into ours, I think that's quite enough from you for the time being!" Minerva snipped.

"He's awake, Headmistress, just thought you should know," Draco drawled, although the boy's eyes were still closed. His father had taught him that, _always listen before you open your eyes_.

Eyes did indeed flutter open soon afterward. Clearly, he was groggy.

"We should carry him up to the school," the Headmistress said.

Ginny was handling Albus, so Harry stepped forward, ready for the task, but as soon as he laid a hand on the boy, he was up, falling over, up again and backpedaling, wand out.

"W-Where am I?!" he demanded, shakily.

"Hogwarts, dear, we're not going to hurt you," Minerva said, and then snapped, "Potter, put that away for goodness sakes."

Sheepishly, Harry put his wand away.

* * *

 _Hogwarts?_ The boy thought.

This was _not_ Hogwarts.

Had they gotten him? Was this some sort of hallucinogenic torture? He looked around and went to back up another step as they stepped toward him again, and he stepped right back into the water with his left foot. It splashed as he pulled it back out, trying to maintain his composure, soaking wet, nauseated, light-headed, and wholly confused.

"W-who are you?"

"I'm the headmistress, dear, Professor McGonagall."

"…" the boy stared. _You're dead…_

For a moment he thought perhaps he was in the past, but then the man who had gone to carry him said, "And I'm Harry, Harry Potter." Far, far too old to be THE Harry Potter.

"H-harry Potter? But y-y-you, your _dead_!" _Dead, we're all dead?_ His mind searched frantically for some logic in an entirely disorienting scenario.

"Erm," Harry looked down at himself, blinking. "Happily not?"

"You seem to have traveled with a Time-Turner, dear. Let us help you, you're hurt," the headmistress said. "We will all figure this out together. These other boys have brought you back with them somehow." She had a sneaking suspicion there was a familiarity in the lithe boy with waves of black hair. She was the only one of the group other than perhaps Harry, that had seen Severus as a boy, in his memories. This boy was a…more well-groomed look-alike with less harsh features, and it was pulling at her mind if not quite there yet.

"What's your name, son?" this Harry Potter asked, gently.

He shook his head. No, he was not telling anyone _anything_ until they told him more. His wand shook in his hand. He tried to breathe through his nose, willing tears away with every fiber of his being. He had to make sure this was not some trick. He could feign shock if need be. Even for the hellish world he had come from, he had never been this frightened, and now it was time to prove he could control it enough to protect himself. Without his parents. Either of his parents. He could not let himself think of the screaming. _Not the screaming. Not the screaming._

Trying not to think about that made him totally aware of the fast, hard, thump-thumping of his heart.

Of all the scenarios he had ever agonized over, this was probably the one he feared the most: being alone. Dying had long ago lost the ability to scare him. He had lived every day knowing the reality of it maybe being his last. The sky might be blue, these people might seem nice, but the boy did not understand safe. _Safe_ was not an actual thing in his world, not ever, not once.

* * *

They walked up to the school, their time-turned newcomer moving slower than the rest but refusing anyone to come near him to help. This stoic child who looked ready to choke himself to death before allowing tears or showing any weakness was definitely some sort of progeny of her former colleague. Minerva was sure of it. She had seen enough children of former students to pick them out. He was even hiding the fact that he was gripping his wand with terror inside the folds of his robes. The schoolboy version of Professor Snape had done that same thing, mostly before hexing the dickens out of anyone who tried to tease him.

She had her own many regrets about Severus. It prickled and left a heat behind her nose. She might have given in to it were it not for the two imbeciles walking with their parents in front of her who had created this mess and this mystery Slytherin from the Dark times.

"You don't have to talk," she assured him. Just because he was too scared to say anything much did not mean silence helped. He was still just a boy. A boy who did not seem to know what was going on, the way he kept looking this way and that.

Minerva left him with house elves getting him tea and sandwiches. As if that could possibly make it better, but she was not sure what else to do whilst they dealt with Potter and Malfoy. If she had known about the dementors, she might have known to get the boy some chocolate.

 _However did Albus do it! Students messing with time, bringing back students of times they have both created and annihilated! Good Heavens. I'd give Hermione Granger and Harry Potter a bit of my mind. I might let Draco Malfoy have both of them! Of all the things, young Mr. Malfoy should have had more sense!_

* * *

Still holding his wand, which he had never put away, he pulled his legs against him in the corner of the armchair he was sitting in. His wet hair had turned into a wavy black mess, falling below his shoulders. He'd the presence of mind to dry his clothes and robe but not his hair, which had dried in a haphazard manner.

Once some of the dementor sickness had worn off, he decided this was not a hallucination, nor some trick. Not that what _was_ happening was any better than either of those things.

Wholly alone in every sense, now that the reality of a Time-Turner set in, he let the tears come out quietly, his heart banging away in his chest in a way that made him feel nauseated and light-headed again. He did not know what _safe_ was, having never been _safe_ before, and the absence of his parents, now and forever, was frightening even for him. It did not matter if the nice, old witch told him he was _safe_.

The headmistress entered some half an hour later, finding her newcomer in that exact same position.

"Please tell me your name, dear?" she asked him, sitting down in the chair across from him. Slowly, she reached to take his wand from him; from experience she knew what wild magic a child could create in certain circumstances.

"Is…is _He_ still here in this time?" He pulled it away from her, a look in his eye that made her abandon that effort. He was not giving his wand up.

"He?" she repeated. Did he mean?

"T-the Dark Lord?" he whispered it with a fearful reverence. That was the one thing he truly needed to know before he said another word.

She frowned and let out a firm, "No."

"No?" He looked at her from behind tendrils of thick, black waves, right in the eyes, clearly not quite able to believe it, fathom it.

She let out a breath when he seemed to relax at the lack of Voldemort in their world. "Harry Potter, who you met earlier, vanquished him many years ago. Neither he nor any of his followers can harm you. Now then, what is your name?" She reached out to touch his shoulder, with a glare at the appendage, he let her.

He seemed to breathe a bit easier now that he knew the Dark Lord was no threat here. "I…I…I go by S-Sev-Severus, my middle name…"

She mustered a smile for the boy. Her intuition had been correct, "Your father…is Severus Snape?"

He nodded, "Y-yes, erm, Professor, Is he…is he…is he alive in this time?" He gulped, trying to steady his voice. He wanted to be stronger than this, but he had never been prepared for _this_.

Her sad look was the only answer he needed and despite the strength with which she could tell he tightened his jaw, two tears struggled from the corners of his eyes.

To the headmistress, the poor thing looked destroyed and utterly fighting not to let it show.

"You k-knew, k-knew him, h-headmistress?" This was quite a lot to take in, even for a child who had been learning magic from his father, in absolute necessity, for as long he could remember. All sorts of magic.

"Yes, we worked together for well over a decade, and I was also a teacher when he was a student here. You are very lucky to have a father who would bear all sorts of hells to protect a child. I am sure you are very strong and very brave like him." She wished to keep him talking, getting it out. She gave his shoulder a squeeze. Another tear rolled out of the boy. She realized one of her own followed in sympathy.

"The dementors…He…the screaming…and mum."

 _This poor, poor boy!_ "Wh-," the Headmistress began but was interrupted before finishing by the appearance of the Minister for Magic walking through the open door after _knocking_ this time.

Persons traveling across time, Hogwarts children from other worlds of not, surely involved the former Gryffindor, who seemed quite tired of all the time ripples by this point. Served her right for her carelessness with the time-turner!

"Minister," she said, with a curt nod, more for the boy's benefit, so he would know who she was.

Sitting up more, with a gaping look of disbelief, the boy exclaimed, "Mum?!" His lips parted. She looked _different._ Deep down he knew it was too good to be true, that it wasn't true, that it could not be true. She was dead. _Minister? Minster for Magic?!_

"Mum?" Hermione echoed, looking with confusion from the time-turning boy to her former Head of House.

"Y-you…you d-don't remember me?" he stuttered. At this point, he actually dropped his wand, which clattered to the floor.

His entire world had truly just been shattered, everything he knew and loved utterly destroyed, like a dementor had attacked his entire existence, tearing it apart, kissing it into oblivion, and then leaving him alone in this bizarre place. "Y-your not my….." He could not help but breathe in great, gulping bursts while trying to hold in all the noise of it, still trying to deny that he was truly going to start sobbing. In front of people. In front of strangers, even if one looked like his mum.

He wanted to run and wrap his arms around her and couldn't.

"Oh dear," McGonagall uttered, looking between the boy and Hermione Granger-Weasley. _Mum?!_ He had the generousness of her lips and cheeks, the largeness of her eyes, the thickness of her hair, all meshed with the intense charcoal darkness of Severus' eyes and longer face, framed with wavy black tendrils whose color definitely came from his father. "Oh…my…word." Hermione Granger and Severus Snape? Had a child?

All he wanted was his mum, his mum who was _right there_ , or his dad, who he knew he'd never see again. It was a worse torture than staying behind with his father! Than death. He cried into the sleeve of his robe, finally not caring what anyone thought. They'd have hurt him by now if they were going to, so it did not matter if he showed precisely how weak he felt in that moment. _Sorry Dad…_

Just then, as empty as it was, Severus wished that his father had kept his promise*. More hot tears stung his eyes as he furiously wiped them behind the sleeve of his robes. He just wanted to be alone.

"Hermione, dear…in this world Scorpius just came back from Severus, yourself, and Ron held off the dementors long enough to allow Scorpius to escape with the time-turner to fix time…" She repeated of the blond boy's story.

"Yes, yes," the younger one said, eager to fill in these gaping holes.

The headmistress provided the missing bit the younger girl was not fully processing, "Severus is his father." She wrung her hands together, "And you…you're apparently his mother. And there's no _back_ to send him to…"

Hermione gaped at the boy.

* * *

A/N – Thanks for the reviews! The next few chapters are already written, so the faster I get some feedback and reviews, the faster I'll post up more!

* I'm planning to reveal the promise in a flashback, but I think some savvy readers might be able to guess what that sad promise was based on the first chapter! Take your best guess in a review :D


	3. Chapter 3 - A Twice Dead Hero

Chapter 3: A Twice Dead Hero

* * *

Hermione was rarely at a loss, but this left her completely without words. Of all the situations she had ever faced, whether in the war or in the Ministry, never had one ever gotten her quite like this. She never thought she would have to wrap her head around being with Severus Snape in another world, making a _child_ with Severus Snape in another world. _Sleeping_ with Severus Snape, presumably more than once!

 _Did I MARRY him?_ Her eyes went wide, and her mind started to whir.

Her maternal instincts flared as the boy sobbed though, clearly against his willpower to keep it at bay, as evidenced by his clenched fists and chokes. That pulled her back from disbelief to the task at hand.

She could not think of what to say to the boy, she did not _feel_ like his mother, although her logical brain was telling her that she still _was_ genetically his mother in a bizarre twist of time, and he her son. Legitimately her son, with Professor Snape, who was very long dead in her time.

Without any processing time, what came out was about his father. It seemed safest to talk about him. "Your father was a great hero in our world…" Those charcoal eyes were like Professor Snape's without being tunnels.

"You saved his life…and he saved yours…in mine," the boy croaked. He didn't care if his father was a hero to others. Such things had never mattered. Why would they when your mother was the most wanted Mudblood traitor and your father was secretly still fighting the most precarious and losing battle ever to face wizardkind? "There's m-more important things than…h-heroics," he added, though not providing what those were.

Hermione gave a sob-like chuckle, "You sound just like him." Her former professor had probably said that.

Like most she could not have appreciated the truth about the man while he was alive, but she could have perhaps believed Dumbledore or believed in the man himself more than that, and she felt some guilt. _Had_ they done everything in the end? She had thought of him far too often over the years.

He sniffled and tried to hold in another sob, choking and then hiding his face again, as lost in thoughts of his father as she was. _I…I didn't even say anything to him…_

"Minerva, do you think I could speak to him alone?" Hermione asked, quietly. "Perhaps you should ask Draco not to leave, and Harry. And perhaps...perhaps floo Kingsley. This might require his unique assistance." This revelation was of a kind the first two men should know about, and the third was just to make sure she had no conflicts of interest. The boy was, technically, hers, and she would have to be careful of any decision-making coming back politically. Not to mention, from the sound of the world he came from, they might need someone with both knowledge of magic light and dark, but also of the boy's father.

"Of course, dear." The older woman leaned down into Hermione's ear on her way out and said, "He said he goes by Severus..." and gave her an encouraging look.

 _He look_ _s petrified with his legs all pulled up against him...What would Professor Snape have said to his son right now?_

All she knew was that he had been vitriolic to everyone else's child. She was somewhat at a loss to think of anything he would say in light of that. Then she realized something…

Anyone with a child would do anything to ensure their survival, and Professor Snape was a sharply intelligent and cunning man. The boy had been far too confused for this to have been contrived between he and Scorpius; he had not known about the Time-Turner, so how had he been holding it at the right moment? "Did your father send you with Scorpius?"

"Yes, erm, ma'am. He told me to go in the lake with Scorpius, to run, while h-he held off dementors." He took a breath, trying to keep the images and sensations away. It was not something anyone would want to relive. "So I ran, and it was cold." Another breath. "And I saw-." My father's doe in the lake. Another breath. "Scorpius in the lake, so I jumped."

Hermione frowned, "Were you touching the Time-Turner?"

"I didn't know there was one. I must have been. I-I grabbed for Scorpius as I f-fell in. I didn't know if I could keep my P-patronus up if I went too far under."

She reached out and touched his tucked in leg, trying to envision it and feeling a pit in her own stomach, and realizing his heart was beating so hard and fast she could feel his pulse as she did so. One would have thought she'd have nerves of steel by now, but she rather felt she was going to vomit.

"You really do have no idea what's going on." Not that any of them did. _Sideways. How does that even work?_

He shook his head that he was fairly clueless, a state that he was honestly rarely in, so that was disorienting in itself; generally, his father made very sure he was somewhat prepared for just about anything with the sort of circumstances and world they lived in.

Apparently, of all the ghastly, gruesome, and demanding scenarios Severus Snape had prepared his son for, Time-Turning teenagers was not one of them.

As for Hermione, she related the important parts of Scorpius' story to the displaced boy, whose brow furrowed as he listened. His world truly had been blinked out of existence. Blinked into it and blinked out of it in less than a week to them, but his entire lifetime to him and those in his world.

Finally she finished, "He knew he was going to die again, for all of us, and he knew even if all went well you would be blinked out of existence, Sev. He sent you to the only future where you had a chance, one he had faith would be safe from Voldemort." He took in a breath at the name. "It was the only way you would not die with him. He knew you didn't exist here, so the Two Yous Paradox would be avoided at least. It was a chance, but better than being blinked out of existence."

Her unwitting genetics had surely softened out Professor Snape's more angular ones in the boy. She could see herself in him. The boy blinked and cocked his head to the side, trying to process. She did that. Not Professor Snape.

"W-why didn't he come with. If he was dead in this world, that doesn't mess with time," the boy asked, fighting back another round of tears. If he could only know how much that struck her like something she would say, something utterly academic about time and the world's lack of fairness from a child's perspective.

She found it profoundly moving that his father had sacrificed himself twice to save their world. That was far from what was on the boy's mind.

She pushed his rather messy hair away from his face. One charcoal eye flicked toward her for a moment. "Your father was the most resolute and selfless man I ever knew, in any world. He had to make sure Scorpius made it to get rid of Voldemort again, and to save you, to give you a better life. The man I knew would not leave the glimmer of chance for any of that to fail just to save his own life."

Finally, after some silence, the boy nodded and then sighed. "No, he wouldn't." He stared at the wall.

Her sigh matched his. _Of course it isn't any easier, but at least he knows what happened..._

She tried to smile at the boy, "You know, I think the Professor Snape of my world would have been intrigued by the academic prospects of a time-twisted piece of himself having survived."

"Of my time as well, obviously." Or else he would not have thought of sending him and would have just held him until it was that final moment they had always talked about. That grim prospect made him shiver, even though he had run toward it hours ago. His death was one horror he knew his father did not want to face; it was one that was mentioned often between them when his father had cautioned or lectured him. He had to be strong, always.

All Hermione could think was _obviously_ in her best mental rendition of Severus Snape, unaware of the boy's thoughts of his own death.

"W-what's going to happen to me now, erm, here?"

"Nothing bad, don't worry," she assured him, gently. "Lots of people are going to have questions, and there will be some official sorts of paperwork things, but after what you've been through in your other world, it'll be easy."

He eyed her, almost as if he was not so willing to buy into this world's benevolence yet. She was like his mum but not like his mum in a strange sort of way. She was less gruff but that was to be expected; here she was apparently Minister for Magic, not a rebel with a death sentence. It was odd. Her face and voice were comforting, but her presence...hurt. It hurt him in a way he usually ignored.

"None of this is easy…losing my parents and, and, and getting dropped into a strange place where, where-." He gave up and swiped at his eyes. He didn't have words for it, yet. Even thinking about just answering questions about his existence was not easy; how was he to explain that world and the things he had done, things he knew, to people in a place that was not ruled by a twenty-year regime of the Dark Lord?

* * *

AN - THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS! Just to know people are enjoying it is great, as is the feedback 3

UP NEXT - A flashback chapter ;)


	4. Chapter 4: The Thing That Were Done

Chapter 4

The Things That Were Done

(Flashback Chapter)

* * *

 _In the days leading up the the obliteration of Voldemort World..._

First years gave him a wide berth as he stalked angrily out of the Dark Arts classroom; actually, a number of students gave him a wide berth despite his unimpressive height, they all knew what it meant if you were kept after in that class, and his last dueling club contest win had been "particularly inspired." That meant his opponent was still in the Hospital Wing, and he was apparently worthy of fear. He paid no notice, but if he had, he would have thought it was fine, though inaccurate. It was a safe image anyway. They all though his father was rather terrifying too.

 _Discipline_ was at an all-time high, proving that something bad had happened, which likely accounted for the Dark Arts Professor's short mood with him. Even at his age, Sev knew everything rolled downhill. If any of their professors got it, they got it, and for some students it trickled down to first-years, Mudbloods, and Muggles. Why wouldn't others think he'd do that as well? As he took the stairs down, the last thing from his mind was inflicting his misfortune on some unsuspecting _dilettante,_ as Umbridge might put it, who got in his way.

By this time, the charade of it, including the copious beatings and violence, were merely all part of a routine for the young Slytherin. He had been prepared for it beforehand, far before he was even of Hogwarts age; because it was not _if_ their lives depended upon it, their lives _did_ depend upon it. He had been ready for all of it, not just a little pain or moral ambiguity. He was sporting both at the moment.

 _You do what you have to do. No matter how tired you are, hurt you are, afraid you are, sad you are, no excuses, ever. And then when there are times you can temper it with what you can do, you do what's right._

Otherwise, doing what was _right,_ was entirely relevant to the scenario. Those words, those ideas were so drilled into him by this point that he barely veered from them. He didn't like it all the time, but he did what he had to do; it was either that or increase the odds of their deaths exponentially.

After letting the sixth years trudge passed, whispering about the massive essay his father had just set them and eyeing him as if he bore part responsibility, he walked in the open door to the Potions classroom and shut it with a wave of his hand. It banged louder than he had meant it to.

Without looking up, Professor Snape said in a smooth voice from behind the desk, "I know it does not escape your notice that you should at least announce yourself, Severus, before you commandeer _my_ classroom with _your_ magic."

"And shutting the door does not announce me, sir? Who else would presume?" he asked.

"Mind your cheek that _you_ don't presume too much." The professor gave the boy a meaningful look.

 _Appearances._ He was still a teenager, after all, but he did know that look very well. "Yes, Father," he replied, sighing while dropping his bag and jumper, hoping to avoid turning one sentence into a lecture.

Up went an eyebrow to the sighing response, but nothing was said about it. "You're bleeding," the Potions master noted instead.

"A bit." He wiped at a cut above his eyebrow. "Dark Arts was rough. I hit my head." It was a lie by omission. He more than hit his head, but he hated getting his father upset.

"It's always rough for you, Sev." There was a hint of exasperation.

"That's because Carrow is stupid." He walked over in front of the desk and eyed the plethora of Potions samples littering the top. He gave a sniff of disdain. If that was Living Death, they'd all far more likely be dying rather than living, that was for sure. Absentmindedly, he started arranging them into groups, seemingly by color, which was far from clear as it should be.

His father snorted at the assessment of Carrow. "Obviously. That does not make it wise of you to give a reason to lash out at you, as I've told you before. That's your own stupidity."

He looked up from what he was doing, which seemed to be separating them by how he thought his father would grade them. It must have been an apt approximation, because the Potions master did not stop his fiddling.

"I know more and can do more than that entire class and he wants me to _practice_ these stupid curses. I don't _need_ to practice them. I've been doing them for years with you, and _everyone_ knows it. What sense does it make to hurt my _friends_ for practice I don't need? Why is it so hard to get that I can't summon the necessary necessity to make the magic work if I don't feel it's necessary?!" He threw up his arms and then winced, putting his arms hastily back down and clearing his throat somewhat suspiciously.

There was some element of petulant theatrics to the response, but the unfortunate problem was that the boy was probably far too smart for the more blunt instrument type like Carrow.

In his best Professor Snape voice, he replied, "And _his_ mentality is simply that you do what you're told, thinking optional. Your hope that somehow there should be a 'getting' it, therefore, is rather futile. You'll be wrong every time, right or not, as I'm sure you realize full well."

"Yes, sir, I know." He shrugged. He made his decision, and he'd live with it, already had lived it with for the short span of the walk down to the dungeons.

"Well I am not sure what I was expecting between my intelligence and your mother's penchant for being such an insufferable know-it-all. I suppose I got precisely what I deserve in my delightful progeny." The elder Severus gave the boy a small, indulgent smile. "And pray tell what did your inheritance of snark and brains earn you beyond a knock on your thick head?" After his son had tossed his arms up and winced, he had a good idea already.

The boy made a dumpy face at his father, knowing he was beyond discovered.

"Come on, then. I suppose this means you'll have to lay down for this."

"Yes, sir."

His father put a hand to the his shoulder and guided the youth out of the classroom and toward his quarters. Once inside the Professor twirled his finger in the air, telling the boy to turn around and face away from him. Off came the cloak and the boy's shirt was pink with blood all down his back.

The professor turned his son around by the shoulders and started taking off his tie and shirt. "I should let it be and not heal it. Perhaps that might start to teach you to respect your elders even when they're _stupider_ than you." He looked down his nose at the boy to make sure he was listening. "Unfortunately for you, that's a large percentage of your world, son; you'll save yourself a lot of trouble if you learn that lesson now. I did also teach you some humility and respect, I believe. One day it will be far more and worse than this."

He was torn between letting out a whining 'Dadddd' or a 'yes, sir.' He chewed his lip for a second as he watched his father's long fingers make quick work of his buttons. A clarification was safer...

Instead he said, "Do you really feel that way, Dad? Do you think that's disrespectful? _Foolish,_ sir?" He looked up through his eyelashes at his father's face. Foolish was one of the worst things to his father. Worse than disrespectful.

The father raised an eyebrow at the son, pushing the boy's hair away from the cut on his forehead. "I feel both ways, actually. You are my son in more ways than you understand. It is just difficult as a father to know what you live with, what happens to you, but I can't begrudge you what few choices you are free to make, either. I suppose you shall just have to learn to handle the results, as will I." He healed the cut on the boy's face first, thumbing it for a second as those charcoal grey eyes stared up at him, before turning his son back around.

"I'd rather stomach a little pain than bow to their stupidity," he said, quietly, as he shrugged off his shirt tenderly with his father's help. It peeled, stuck to a littering of webbed cuts. His lip curled some in discomfort.

The elder smiled slightly behind his son's back, although his words were more tempered. He did not precisely want to encourage it, but he was proud of his son's strength nonetheless; it was required, though somewhat sobering. "Sometimes it is the most intelligent to feign otherwise and do as you're told, just make sure you choose well and do not push too far."

"Yes, sir."

An intake of breath and a sigh indicated the Professor's reaction to the state of his 4th year's back compliments of his fellow staff. "Was this it?"

"No, sir, you know it wasn't…" He flopped down on the bed on his stomach. It was a familiar routine.

This revelation seemed to give a moment's pause before a silent healing spell started closing up the cuts and clearing the blood.

If anything tripped Severus Snape's temper, it was that dolt using the Cruciatus on his son for being too bloody smart for his own good. Not wishing to let his anger out around his son, he tried to focus the conversation something else, a technique he oft used to keep control of himself.

"I need you to brew Veritaserum with me tonight and through the schedule for the lunar cycle."

"D-." A hasty glance shut him off before he could even protest with a 'Dad.' Instead he replied, "Yes, Father." He could tell when not to push, even if his father's temper was stoked by no fault of his own. He had not really wanted to say anything about the Cruciatus; his father would know when he invariably shook or was nauseated, and then he would be in trouble for lying.

"Right after dinner. What I can do that others cannot gains me much leeway; that you can provide a caliber of help where others cannot does the same for you. Do not ever think that is an expendable situation that you can neglect or you _will_ answer to me."

"I know, sir," he said, quietly, clearly sorry he'd nearly pulled the 'Dad' card to begin with.

"Unless you want there to be no more reason why you can't have shaky hands, so Carrow can take full advantage of whatever he might want to do to you," the professor added.

"Dad." His voice was soft, understanding. He looked up with those large eyes, like Hermione's but charcoal like his father's. "Dad, I know...don't worry. I wouldn't make that mistake, sir."

The man sighed and magicked the boy's wavy hair into a braid to keep it out of the way, before he gave his son's head soft pat and headed toward the bathroom, trying not to let show how much he wanted to pop that skinny twit Carrow's head off.

After a moment the deep voice filtered back through to the bedroom, "And you are going to have to make your own dittany salve if you keep this rate up, Severus."

He lifted his head and groaned. Just like his father to make him make his own necessities, which were more duties than chores; there never had been anything remotely resembling a normal home-life, wizard or otherwise.

He could protest that he wouldn't mind a few scars, but he was quite certain if his mother saw them, she would mind. He knew from experience the parental row that would result from that; it was the constant row for the last three years of his life, though they tried to keep it from him.

The gel-like substance was cold. A soft sigh escaped him as his father sat down on the bed next to him and began rubbing it in. The smell did nothing for the nausea that started to rise up after the Cruciatus though.

"Mm, I feel a bit sick." He tried to hide the twitch and then the shake that went through him. "Will you, will you sit with me, Dad?"

* * *

The Professor put the jar aside and propped his back against the pillows. Dittany was far too frequent an accompaniment to his time with his son. It was no surprise to either that the older his son got, the worse this all became.

A very poor semblance of quiet time, sitting with his son while he healed.

He preferred the days of more active espionage, no matter how harrowing; this slow decay was somewhat more torturous than death for him. There was not much to be done to change matters. The only thing that kept either he or the shadow of Hermione Granger going was their son, of that he was perfectly sure. It was easy to bear a life of 95% burning hellfire if meant the relative welfare of your child.

Especially when that child deposited his head on your chest and put an arm around you.

He put a hand on top of his son's head, idly fingering his hair, and the other on the upper arm laid across him. Watching this all slowly play out for his son was becoming ever more painful even for his stalwart resolve. What came after Hogwarts would be no better, he knew. There was only so much staring into the abyss before its stare came back at you, and he knew that was hitting the younger Severus already. It was why he did not want to curse his friends with Dark magic for practice that he did not need, practice for magic the boy did not even want to use to begin with, good at it or not. Unfortunately, there would be many things he would have to do over and over again like that, in this life. There was no choice involved for his son, not even a glimmer of one.

He had signed his child up for that by the folly of ever conceiving him. He simply hated the life he sentenced the boy to, blaming himself for much of what happened everyday.

What sort of existence was it where you woke up every morning for class wondering if this would be your last day?

Your mother's last day?

Your father's last day?

In the worst possible way you could imagine, and not in paranoid exaggeration? The boy already had the visual, unfortunately.

He knew his son thought that every morning; Sev told him so before he was even a teenager, as sick as it was. It was real, and it was true, and he could hardly deny the truth or lay any comfort in the matter. Reality necessitated that he prepare the boy for that end, even. _Prepare_ him for it. Prepare him to die. Why he had proven a beacon for such gut-wrenching tasks, he had little idea.

What life necessitated discussing how that particular finality could, would, or should come about with his then not even thirteen year old son? That memory constantly echoed in his head, where he had to reassure his son that, yes, if it came to that, he could take solace in knowing his own father would kill him painlessly before anything _worse_ than that could happen.

That conversation had been precipitated by his son witnessing and having to pretend to partake in _worse than death_ , and watching his father do the same.

It was a promise he was loathed to keep, because he knew one day he _would_ have to keep it. This could not go on infinitely. They both knew it. All of them knew it. The moment he looked at that face and kept his word would surely be his worst moment alive, and thankfully his last as well.

Hermione had once shouted at him that perhaps he was in Purgatory, which being half-blood, he entirely understood conceptually. She had apologized for it later, but it was apt, and it was apt that she cut at him. It had been long over by then anyway. They were then separated by a chasm of reality; he aware of it and she firmly in denial, in a hole of futility with Weasley, but it did not make her less right in the circumstances. He was reliving his own horrid payment for every sin he had ever committed, partaken of, observed, or even dreamed. She was absolutely right.

"Dad?"

He pulled out of his fatalistic thoughts. "Yes?"

"Stop worrying."

"How do you figure that's what I'm doing?" There were definite drawbacks to having a smart child. That and strong magical bonds seemed to foster that sort of intuition.

"You're playing with my hair, sir. Easy enough to deduce when you always do that after I take a beating..."

"I was merely worrying about whether or not you realize it's been unacceptable to throw up on me since just after you five years old," he replied, silkily.

His son's half-muffled chuckle vibrated against his chest before an ironic spasm of his son's diaphragm sent another shake through him, followed by an uncomfortable groan. With a resilient spirit, the boy replied, "That's why I stopped eating before Dark Arts class, so you can stop worrying about that too."

* * *

AN - I hope you all like the flashback chapter! If you do let me know, I'll plan to do a few more of them. Otherwise there might just be one more where you'll see some of the things he's had to do.

Read? Review Please!


	5. Chapter 5: Teachings of a Demented World

Cursed Escape

CH 5: The Teachings of a Demented World

(Not a flashback ;) )

 **AN: Special thanks to Duj for all the reviews and to lovethelab and Sofia7 for their review!**

* * *

"Those boys did _what_? How long have I left you two alone!" Kingsley said to Harry and Hermione, looking between the two. "You lot broke into the Ministry and stole things multiple times, and you are ridiculous enough to hide a confiscated, illegal Time-Turner in a bookcase in your office?"

It had taken some time for everything to be explained to the former minister and Auror, and for him to give them a piece of _his_ mind over what had been done. Still, they were right to contact him. This was a sensitive issue and situation magically, politically, and personally.

Kingsley had to attempt to be the objective party. There were cautions that needed to be taken, seemingly harmless child or not. From the talk so far, this other world where Voldemort ruled was quite heinous and full of Dark Magic, students torturing other students. Killing even, if the Malfoy boy was to be believed, and he seemed significantly traumatized enough for it.

From what Malfoy said, Snape remained on their side even to that bitter end, so one would not think his child any sort of a conscious danger. Even a boy of that age, though, could do and be many things.

Being one of few wizards who could blend with Muggles, he understood what culture shock was, and it was mind-wrecking for an adult, let alone a child going from two very different realities. Unlike going from the Magic world to the Muggle world, there was no return to what he was used to for the boy. Hermione and Minerva told him that the kid was holding it mostly together, but that he was clearly petrified and had already cried; they seemed somewhat concerned his large size might be a little intimidating.

He opened the door and looked at the boy, he realized why. The young Mr. Snape _was_ small, especially in comparison to Kingsley himself. The boy was at that awkward stage before hitting a growth spurt.

The boy got up when Kingsley came in, and Kingsley was unsure if it was from politeness or startle. He put on a smile and said in his best soothing voice, "I bet your head hurts and you are tired of talking."

"Yes, sir," the boy replied to him, in a quiet sort of boyish voice that had yet to change, eyeing him steadily. As Kingsley moved, so did their former spy's son, keeping his back turned away. Someone else might not have noticed, but the former Auror did. The kid was not stupid or too scared to think.

 _He's ready to defend himself._ While being on guard might be appropriate for the world he came from, the last thing the former minister wished was for this little Snape to be afraid of him. He was probably afraid enough, though doing a bang up job of holding it together. Kingsley wanted him to relax.

"I am Kingsley Shacklebolt. I was Minister for Magic before -, before." Kingsley awkwardly avoided mention of Hermione. He quickly added, "I was an Auror for a long time before that."

He caught the look of recognition the term Auror brought to the boy's face; he obvious knew what Aurors did, if it was the same thing in both places, or if they even had Aurors anymore.

The boy did not seem to know quite what to say and replied with a polite, "An honor, sir." Those charcoal eyes were closely watching Kingsley's movements as surreptitiously as possible.

"You know what Aurors do? Did you have them in your world?" His goal was mostly to just get the boy talking. He sat down and put his hands on the arms of his chair, catching those eyes watching for any movement toward his wand and wishing the little guy to be at ease. "You can sit if you want."

"They deal with Dark magic and Dark wizards, sir. And no, sir. They were not, erm, precisely looking to get rid of any Dark wizards or Dark magic in that world, sir." No move was made to sit. Instead the child of their former fellow Order member stood there straight, facing him rather unmovingly, with his hands behind his back. If the Auror side of Kingsley bet, the boy kept his wand in his sleeve and had his fingertips on it despite looking respectfully innocuous.

"No, I would not expect so."

Kingsley tried to catch what images of that world he might from the boy, but did not find anything, and he had not expected to given Snape's paramount ability to control his mind. The boy was very closed. Most people in emotional situations gave off all sorts of imagery. He sat back some in his chair. "Your father taught you Occlumency I see." This was surely not a normal child.

"We would not have lived very long if he did not, sir. I can use it against Veritaserum as well..."He was well-aware that such things could be a notch against him, as you could not trust him with those skills, but he'd rather tell them than have then eventually figure it out. If they were as worried about him as he was about them, he did not wish to give a reason to...do anything to him or keep him holed up somewhere. Once shock had worn off, fear and practicality were moving in together in his mind.

Things began to fall into place for Kingsley. "Your father trained you as much as possible to hide the truth. You had memories and experiences that would have betrayed you all the moment you set foot in Hogwarts. He had to make sure you could survive."

"Yes, sir, even memories I'm not consciously aware of with my mum would have been a death sentence for me." There was a long pause. "The Dark Lord probably would have sent me to her in pieces, with me and my father as aware and as present for as much of it as possible."

The dispassion for the macabre nature of that scenario spoke to how desensitized the boy had become, how it seemed like a normal notion, to be sent to one's mother in pieces.

"How old are you, son?"

"Thirteen, sir."

"You would know a lot of spells past your age then? They said you have a corporeal Patronus, conjured around enough of a swarm of dementors that they blocked out the sky."

"For most of my life my mother had been on the dementor's list. She had not been outside in-." He stopped. He heard what must have been her screams over again, from when he had first started his run and had gone looking for them. After a few moments, he shook his head and took a shaky breath. "There was always a horde of dementors around the school. It was one of the first advanced spells I learned from my father, sir. It can send messages too." He mustered a small smile, knowing that the Order had used that particular bit of magic and really still apprehensive that this man take him the right way.

The boy was direct, so Kingsley took the same approach. "What else did your father teach you, son?"

The boy looked down and then at the wall and then back at his face. "Everything, sir. Everything he could. Everything that was...required."

"Dark Magic?" He prompted, to keep the boy going, though he already knew the answer. It was as much as how the answer was delivered than the answer itself.

"Yes, everything," the boy replied, again. "He would rather I learn it first from him than someone else who would not teach me to respect it or the consequences at the same time."

Those words had surely come from the professor, who had learned first hand about the consequences. "And you used it?"

"That's a compulsory part of being taught it, sir," he answered in the same quiet voice, although somewhat impertinently. "Dark Arts was a class. Everyone used it who did not wish to be beat, tortured, dead, or worse, sir."

"Worse?"

"There was worse where I am from, sir." His face was rather impassive, but inside he felt a bubbling discomfort. _They won't understand here..._

"Unforgivables?" Kingsley asked, knowing in the year that the Death Eaters had taken over Hogwarts such things had happened.

"Were not called such, sir," he replied. "But yes, sir."

"All of them?"

"I said everything, sir," he replied, again quietly. While he had tried to maintain his calm and impassive demeanor, shame slowly creeped into his voice. I've used them, they've been used on me before. Many times."

Kingsley blinked. It was hard to fathom a world where a boy this age would be forced to deal with such things with such frequency to not be outwardly phased by them.

After the pregnant pause, the boy went on, "Even being of enough value to be treated above the rest, that is what happened."

"Because of your father," Kingsley surmised easily.

"Yes, sir, all the Dark Lord's original Death Eaters had some level of notoriety, but my father's ability in Potions and other things gave him more consideration than most."

"And they made you use Unforgiveables on others and other spells to hurt?"

"I did what I had to do, sir. I know right from wrong, and I've always done what was right when it was remotely possible. That is what you truly wish to know, isn't it?" The boy looked at his hands. "I know you can feel Dark Magic on me. I know you can see residue of it with detection spells. I know it's going to cling to me. I can keep it out as easily as I can keep you out of my mind, sir."

It was hard to know what to think when faced with a child from what sounded like some sort of Apocalyptic scenario. On one hand, how could he be blamed for either knowing what the school required of him or knowing what his father taught him to stay alive. On the other hand, the level of Dark Magic that could have abounded in such an exponential situation was vast and not inconsequential. Dark Magic left marks and not always the visible sort like the Dark Mark.

As Kingsley thought, the boy added, "My father raised me to respect magic, sir. No matter what he taught me, and he would not have tolerated me using it for anything beyond what was either absolutely necessary or in the right. Not even in that world. If you have a pensieve, you can watch me if you like, Minister. That would probably better tell you what you wish to know. You wish to know if I'm dangerous, if I am who I say I am, and that, sir."

The boy's thoughts and words betrayed how scared he was but also how guarded and controlled he was now that he had a few hours. He was already thinking of what was going to happen to him and how he wanted to influence that outcome, and he had obviously thought of what the potential outcomes could be already.

Knowing the world he came from, Kingsley knew he had to set the boy more at ease. "You are among friends, son. I know you do not understand that, but your father was one of us in the worst times _we_ had. Whatever we need to do, we will do. We just need to know how to help you, what you've been through, and that is going to take us some time to figure out and for you to trust us enough to tell us."

The boy seemed skeptical, because he did not answer for a few very long moments. His other answers had been far faster. "I, I do know who you all are, even if I don't _know_ who you are, sir. I've just...you don't know what it was like..."

"I don't," Kingsley replied. "I know I was ready to die to prevent that, though."

"In my world, you _did_ , sir." He looked at the wall, always caught between the differences between the worlds, and he hadn't been there even a day. He had a life of this yet to live.

"I would do it here, so if you do not want that world, son, you're never going back to it, and you know every reason why we can never allow that to happen here."

And one thought entered the boy's head at that declaration. It was not fully formed, but it floated around his mind. What would it be like to wake up the next day not worrying if it would be the day that he died, they all died? What would the value of that be if he did escape that feeling? The worst of it had already happened; the screams from the dementors would be added to the memories that fueled his nightmares, and his parents were gone. Beyond that what purpose did he have now, and what was he supposed to do?

He knew one thing. He felt it deep down inside to where the cold of the dementors still clung to him. He had been left behind. Alone.

* * *

AN - Someone asked me in a PM what his name is, catching that he said he goes by his middle name, Severus, so are there any guesses what his first name is before I reveal in the next few chapters?

If you enjoyed it, please leave me a review! I'm getting to the part of things where I don't have the chapters mostly written already, so give me some writing fuel!


	6. Chapter 6: The Things I Had to Do

Cursed Escape

CH 6: The Things I Had to Do

(Flashback Chapter - you can see these as Sev thinking about the last few days in between the adults talking to him)

* * *

 _Voldemort World, in the days leading up to jumping in the lake, following onward in time from CH 4 flashback..._

Knowing that there was a long night ahead, Sev looked around the Slytherin table for Scorpius, and not seeing him decided not to linger at dinner. He intended to grab something and go, but that was always rather harder in practice than theory.

"Oy, Sev. Did you get the answer to the Arithmancy yet?"

He looked up from where he was cutting a roll. "Yes, why?"

"Did you have 8 rows and a positive correlation?"

Pausing with his knife, he turned to the other boy and frowned, almost imperceptibly shaking his head. _What? That doesn't even make sense._

"I should say yes so that you learn it on your bloody own, but no." He lowered his eyes back to his task, which was his clear refusal of any 'help' beyond saying the answer was wrong. He'd learned within the first two months of schooling that help most often did not mean help, and he found he inherited his father's patience, or lack thereof, for idiots. Especially lazy idiots.

"Did you see the 6th year one yet, Snape?" An older blond boy asked.

"Yes, and no I didn't solve it, though I probably could. I already learned that you lot rifle through my things looking for it, and I'm very tired of explaining cursed journals and injuries because my housemates can't keep their hands to themselves."

"Yeah, then we all end up disemboweling slimy things and writing lines for Professor Snape."

Sev paused from chugging a glass of juice and said, "Exactly, and you lot can escape him. I can't."

"Are you running tomorrow morning?" It came from the same older blond.

"6am, every morning. You going to vow to get up and then sleep in yet again?" He asked, quirking a dark brow. "You Keepers are lazy."

He picked up his makeshift sandwich and gave them all a nod a he turned to leave, catching the last bit of conversation as he walked back down the hall.

"What're we going to do if Malfoy is still buggered by the next practice? We'd need a seeker."

The walk down to the dungeon was long enough to both finish eating and get stopped by Ada Turner, 5th year Ravenclaw, who was either flirting with him or trying to figure out if he knew who Scorpius was asking to the ball. At his age, girls made little sense, and with his more academic nature girls did not hold the greatest allure to inspire him to try to make sense of them either.

They did not often ask him about or talk about anything he had much interest in, and he was well-aware that anyone he got close to by any measure was instantly potential collateral damage to his own situation. It was not particularly savory, so whether or not he liked his alone time, he had learned to know how to like it out of necessity.

"You're earlier than I expected," his father said to him as he walked into the private lab.

"Sir?" He had already taken off his robe and was holding his gloves in confusion.

"Did you skip dinner?" It was asked in a way that insinuated such a thing happened more than it likely should. He had already confessed that he didn't eat earlier before Dark Arts class.

"No, sir. I ate quickly. You said not to mess about and be prompt."

Up went his father's eyebrow.

"Well you did, Dad." He raised his own eyebrow, as if wondering if he was going to get told off about his eating habits.

"Well, don't mess about then, and get to work setting up while I finish gathering the ingredients," was the response. A small smile followed once the boy turned his back to do as he asked.

Placing a final jar on the work table ten minutes later, after keeping his eye on his son's movements, he paused to touch that far less pale face. "You are not as clammy anymore. I trust you're feeling better."

"Just a bit worn, but I'm fine. I'm not nauseated anymore. I did eat." He paused to widen his eyes and jut his chin forward with seriousness as if he was not in the mood to be doubted, "Real food, sir." His father's hand moved down to linger on his shoulder.

"And the shaking?"

"Stopped, I think." He looked hopeful, always more expressive with his father that beyond that private sphere.

"You think?" His father asked, closing his eyes and then opening them, not having much patience for the 'I think so' phrases to begin with. "I do hope you think, frequently."

The boy sighed with exasperation as his father's constant critique of his choice of words and said, "Dad, you need my help. I can help. I'm okay, really. Steady hands. No excuses, right?" He wiggled his fingers in the air to illustrate.

"That's not precisely applicable in this circumstance."

"Because it's okay if you don't sleep? Hardly ever?" Concern went both ways.

The world of Hogwarts proper might believe Professor Snape just as much the unbearable git as ever, but the man was the only _real_ aspect of the world to his son, so he rather was the world to one just more than five foot tall, lion-maned teenager. A boy who thought to lecture him after his own health tit for tat.

The professor raised both brows as the boy crossed his arms at him, like his mother. How utterly annoying. "Difficult though it may be to believe, you _are_ more important than my sleeping patterns, boy," he groused.

Truth be told, he was a rather protective father in his own way. There was a time and a place for lessons about powering through any circumstance; frankly, he was hardly worried about the boy's endurance. That had already been plenty tested, but to do the quantity of Veritaserum the Potions master needed to do, he did need the other set of hands.

Sev stuck out his chin again, not realizing it did not make his point or stature any more impressive. It did not do for Hermione either. Although when the boy held up a rather large knife as a statement of being ready to begin, the comically menacing nature of it did made the professor chuckle, unintentional though it was on the boy's part.

It did have the consequence of ending the deliberations of whether he could brew steadily enough, though.

The quiet and focus of working with his father was always somewhat calming. There was nothing unpredictable about it, and the precision of it kept his mind occupied. They could just do what they were doing, with nothing else to think about. There were no what ifs. You knew exactly what was going to happen and when. That was all too rare a thing.

And it was some five hours later before thoughts of the younger Severus' steadiness came back around. The professor went from worrying that the boy's chopping or measuring might not be exacting enough to wondering if he really could do it with his eyes half-closed.

"Take a break for half an hour and rest your eyes," he said to the boy, in a voice that brokered no arguing.

Truth be told, he knew the second his son sat down behind the desk and put his head on it, he'd be out. This way, though, there would be less argument about going to sleep before this stage was complete.

He continued on until a lull in the process allowed him to magic the boy into bed before finishing out the first night of the process and leaving it to cool. By that time it was only an hour or so before sunrise. He cleaned his hands and splashed some water on his face.

He could finish and clean up himself, but then he'd have to deal with a barely contained teenaged glower the rest of the week.

Nevertheless, he watched his son sleep for a few minutes, nightmare free, with a few dark wavy locks shaking in the wake of his breathing against the pillow. The rest was still braided thick as a rope. Though his son accused him of not sleeping much, he knew the boy did not sleep very well either and, predictably, had memories that haunted his sleep much of the time.

He closed his own eyes tiredly as he sat down on the bed and listened to that soft, peaceful breathing. A few minutes later, he gently shook the boy's shoulder, then put his hand in the middle of his back and shook again.

"Sev, wake up."

"Hmmwhat?" Sleepy lifted his head. "Dawhyoulemmesleep."

He wasn't even fully awake yet and he was glowering and grousing about sleeping.

"That's why, because you needed to," he replied, then added in his head, _thanks to that dolt Carrow_. Patiently, he watched his son finger the grit from his eyes and yawn, propping himself on an elbow. "It's cooling. There's tea and toast on the table. Finish it up and get everything cleaned and put away," he instructed.

"Yesssir," came the half asleep reply.

"If you hurry, you should still be able to go for your run before classes start." He knew his son liked the quiet and solitude of it. Plus, quidditch training was reason enough for running to the boy who didn't know how to do anything without intensity. He certainly didn't begrudge his son the only fun available. He did make a deceptively wicked, though almost comically small, beater.

He thought mentioning the run might help with the waking. It didn't. The boy rolled toward the edge of the bed to get up and then stopped, edging more back to sleep than out of the bed, it seemed.

"Sev."

"Mmm up."

With a sigh, he reached over and whapped the boy in the back of the head with just enough force to jolt him. It worked.

"What time is it, Dad?" He asked sitting on the edge and then finally standing up and then cracking a shoulder.

"4:30 or so." Only an hour before his son usually got up for his runs, but at least it would make his son feel less guilty about falling asleep on brewing the night before. Even if it was a silly notion to begin with. He got that from Hermione.

After getting a few hours of sleep, the professor wandered into the lab rather needlessly. He knew everything would be put away correctly. He ran his eyes over the Veritaserum that had been set up to mature in glass to the side until the next phase.

"And the NEWT students whine about my expectations when my thirteen year old can perform better," he muttered to himself, thinking about the Living Death that was an utter disaster. Not one viable potion from an entire class, and he already had his speech planned for tomorrow for that particular group of students.

* * *

The hallways were full of students heading toward their next classes. Sev was trying to avoid a Ravenclaw girl who seemed to find his conversation far more interesting than he found hers.

"Mr. Snape," a no more welcoming female voice sounded out to him.

Sev cringed as his face was away from her but schooled it as he turned around to face her. "Good afternoon, Headmistress."

She was like a pink poison that smelled like cherries but burned like Fiendfyre.

Her eyes turned him up and down, with her constant saccharine smile. "You are always perfectly dressed to standard." She gave him a pat on the chest with a chubby-fingered hand. "Never with your shirt-tails out, your tie like a necklace, or without your robes during proper hours."

The pat did not give him any sense of warmth. He was silent for a moment, unsure precisely what was required of him. It seemed she wanted a reply. She stared at him expectantly.

"Yes, Headmistress." Then he added for a touch of appropriate gusto, "My father would not tolerate me being sloppy or setting a poor example of the rules, it would undermine his authority."

That was true and convenient. And his father rather approved of the proper dress and decorum part of things.

"You are a good boy, so respectful."

 _Gag_. Now he was certain she wished something from him, but he said, "Thank you, ma'am."

"Do you have class this next period, Severus?"

She had pulled out his first name and said it as if she had just said sugar. "No, ma'am."

"Join me for tea, will you?"

 _That sounds positively revolting._ "Of course." As it was ever intelligent to be on Umbridge's, well, thing that resembled a good side, he added, "Would you like me to carry that, Headmistress?" He nodded to the book and clipboard she carried. He wouldn't turn down a chance to get a glance at it.

"Such a proper example of good wizarding blood," she veritably cooed at him.

 _Ah, yes, technically speaking I have 3 Muggle grandparents and my mum is a big Mudblood traitor. Very good example of pure wizarding blood._ It was something of an amusement for him when he was commended for either his intelligence or his magical ability, because they had no idea who his real mother was, so did not realize how empty the compliments were.

He took her things happily, holding them in front of him in a way where he could surreptitiously look down now and again and attempt to read it. Seemed to just be notes on points, but there were some notes on students in there too.

"You did not participate in the activities in the dungeons?"

"I had to help my father brew Veritaserum and Wolfsbane. I've been busy seeing to that when I'm not doing my classwork." He had no desire to participate in torturing Muggles, Mudbloods, and blood traitors stuck to the dungeon walls, but he could not very well say that. At least this time he had a verifiable excuse for his avoidance.

"Pity you missed out, although a good service for our Lord. Few can claim to be any useful at your age, even if it's just assisting your father."

"I exist to serve," he replied, as if he may have truly meant it. If he truly meant it in any way, he meant that he would do anything to help his father.

"I have not heard of any of your spells lately, Severus..."

 _What is she getting at..._ He felt as if he was walking, or talking, his way into something potentially dangerous.

"I have not had much time to work on anything, Headmistress." He was in no great hurry to share anything he researched on his own or with his father's help. Every now and again he might come up with something of mild interest to the gag-tastic woman just to keep off her radar, but by and large what interested him personally had very little application to either controlling or hurting people.

They took the revolving stairway up to her office. Tea was already being set out by an Elf. He was on his guard even though she probably figured the son of any Potions master was going to be at best immune to Veritaserum and at worst wary of it being used. Not to mention any Veritaserum she had was made by his father.

"You did not try anything on Scorpius Malfoy, did you, Severus? Or perhaps he on you? That might have rebounded?"

"No, ma'am, I have not seen Scorpius in a few days. I heard a few fifth years say he was acting odd though." _Why would I do anything to Scorpius...not on purpose at least._

"You're sure you didn't, Mr. Snape? I will not be angry and will punish you very little. I just want the boy back to rights. He shall make us all look bad if this continues..."

"I'm sure, Headmistress. I'm sorry." He took up the tea. The fact that she had asked him all that before he had sipped it likely meant she truly did intend to have tea and her version of a _pleasant_ interrogation. "You know my father would not tolerate me treating advanced magic like a toy to be played about without respect." Never was a more true statement from him uttered to Umbridge. His father was as strict as could possibly get on that issue, hence his foolish wand-waving introduction to Potions.

Sev put on a even more grim look, for appearance sake, and added, "My father does not tolerate repeating himself either." He tried to attach that statement to a meaningful look that suggested he would not ever be risking a beating by playing around with magic on Scorpius.

"No, I suppose not. Your father is quite the task-master." She paused for a sip of tea, "No quidditch accidents at practice? You've not hit a bludger to him?"

He tried very hard not to laugh, but he couldn't help a slight curl of his lips. She truly was baffled and bizarrely concerned about Scorpius. "No, Headmistress." His beater skills were quite strong, but they had not had practice the last few days either. Nor had Scorpius gone running with him the last few mornings or done any training at all. "The objective would be to protect the Seeker, Professor, not injure your own…" He held in his smarmy grin but had to blink about twice as much for nearly thirty seconds.

"Oh well. Had anyone been mad at the boy lately?"

"Scorpius?" _Almost the whole school is either afraid of him or hates him...what a ridiculous question._

"Yes, of course." She said it impatiently, snapping at him and then putting her happy smile back in place.

"I do not think so, Headmistress. All I've heard is girls agonizing over if he is going to ask them to the Ball, but I don't think hexing him would improve any of those chances." He raised an eyebrow and took another sip. Giving her useless information was almost a hobby, but she leeched onto it and thought he was genuine. "It doesn't sound like the proper sort of odd behavior, but unless one of them tried to get him with a bad Love Potion, I have no idea."

Honestly, it sounded like Scorpius was sliding himself slowly into dangerous ground with Umbridge. While Scorpius had become nearly the opposite of Sev, they had known each other their entire lives; Scorpius had grown progressively more like the rest of them especially since his mother had died. That did not mean he didn't care, if only for the ever more occasional moments where Scorpius was as he was before Hogwarts.

"Hmm." She considered this over a dainty sip.

An idea popped into his mind. "Or maybe one of the others that's asked Polly Chapman that she's said no to because she's waiting for Scorpius tried something." There was a particular Ravenclaw 5th year who terrorized the younger students that had asked Polly too, and if he could get that kid taken out of commission for a few weeks, it would be good for the ickles and Mudbloods. "Forsythe, and I do not think he and Scorpius get on."

"Yes, and Forsythe is vindictive enough."

He smiled innocuously. Play the devils against each other and let them take themselves out. "It might be worth talking to him." A talk with Umbridge was not a talk.

"Has Scorpius been asking you about Harry Potter?" She changed direction.

Up went his eyebrow. _"Harry? Harry Potter?"_ He was utterly perplexed. "Scorpius asking about...Harry Potter?" He blinked.

"I know, shocking! It is most odd. If such word gets out! Students speaking about Harry Potter. Your best friend speaking about Harry Potter...Not good for any of us."

"That is very unlike Scorpius, Headmistress, but like I said, I haven't seen him in a few days, so he's not asked me about anything." _Is she insinuating something?_ He was unsure if it was beyond the typical 'your character is judged by those you keep company with.' Was she expecting him to do something about it?

She was oblivious to his deliberations, "Yes, yes, brewing, I recall. Nasty business, Potions. Very dirty and smelly."

Although he found that sentiment rather insulting, he tried to give a benign smile. He almost expected her to say it was better for boys to do Potions because it wasn't proper for girls to get dirty or smelly.

"Is there anything you require, ma'am? I'd be happy to make it for you." He would make sure it tasted and smelled extra revolting if he could. Poisoning was out of the question. He'd asked his father, numerous times.

"You are a delightful young man. I shall let you know." She gave her little laugh.

 _I could vomit..._

"Can I count on you to let me know if you hear anything of Scorpius or what's happened to him?" She asked, almost sweetly.

"Of course, Headmistress," he replied, earnestly.

"Perhaps you might... _ask_ a few others."

 _Does she not realize the Veritaserum I mentioned brewing takes a lunar cycle..._ "If you wish, I will _ask_ around." He raised an eyebrow at the word 'ask,' enjoying the ridiculousness of making it seem like what they were talking about was a little secret.

The forced amiability of tea truly was revolting, but if he could get points for dosing people with fake Veritaserum and then reporting he found absolutely nothing, he was surely going to.

"Very good, my dear, very good. I shall be loathed if only one of the two of you is a prefect next year, I truly would prefer the pair. Scorpius just is not right; as his best friend, I trust you will do your best to help him and to help me help him."

"Yes, Headmistress, of course." _If she only knew how bloody little I want to be a prefect..._

Prefects were expected to dole out punishments. Unfortunately, mucking up his progression of being on the proper side of things was probably just as unsavory as having to curse fellow students as punishment. It was always choosing between the lesser of two evils. At least he would not be looking to see just how sadistic he could be if it happened. Scorpius played that side of the coin, and it was difficult to watch what his friend had turned into.

He finished his tea. "If there's nothing else, ma'am, I have a lot of Arithmancy to do before dinner."

"No, that is all," she said, still with that plastered on smile.

He stood and picked up his bag.

She gave her little sugary cough and then said, "Actually. You are going back to the dungeons, of course. Take care of that last Mudblood, won't you, Severus? You did miss the sport of it, I think." Meaning the fun was rather spent out of torturing the poor soul. "And I'll send Mr. Filch down to clean it all up. There may be more tomorrow; perhaps that will cheer Scorpius. A _fresh_ start."

Yes, unfortunately, Scorpius did like his targets fresh...Without missing a beat, he said, "Yes, Headmistress, I'll take care of it."

After all the agonized screaming all day, he would happily dole out the mercy part of it. He put on a look as if it was an extra privilege. On his way back down from her office, he took in a breath through his nose, letting it out slow and feeling his heart beat relax some out of Queen Toad's presence.

Giving someone a quick death was sometimes one of few _good_ things he could do.

* * *

Next up: What Kingsley tells all the adults and what they decide to do ;)

Read it? Review it, please!


	7. Chapter 7: What's Going To Be Done

Chapter 7

What's Going To Be Done

* * *

When Kingsley emerged some hours later, his face was a bit somber. That had been a weighty discussion, even for someone who had seen and done the things he had seen and done.

"That world...what was prevented from happening...was beyond what _any_ of us fathomed," he commented as he looked around the seated crowd of Harry, Hermione, Minerva, & Draco.

He sat down among them and said, "He is who he says that he is, and there is nothing magically odd about him that I can tell. He seems, at the root of it, unharmed by the Time-Turner itself."

"But?" Hermione asked, sensing _something_.

"He knows things a child should not need to know and some things an adult would never even need to know. Our world is an entirely different culture, with different rules and expectations; everything, everyone, in his world was potentially dangerous. He's going to see it that way and react that way from muscle memory and conditioning alone, no matter if he logically can start to feel safe here."

"Well, he's traumatized, of course," McGonagall said.

"I'm not sure traumatized is the correct word, but I hazard to find a better one. To us, these are wounds, they are things that make him-." Kingsley could not usher the right words. He started over. "You would see him as damaged. His world scares you, so he makes you uncomfortable, you pity him that life, and I'll caution you against that. It's not going to help him assimilate."

"But it _was_ horrible," Hermione pointed out.

"It was _his life_ , Granger," Draco said. "You can't just _fix_ this, you can't fix him, he's not broken. To him this is probably the trauma, not his world."

"Yes, in his world, he knew what to expect. He prepared for it. He had support for it. Here he's alone and lost in a world that he doesn't understand and that will have a hard time understanding him."

Hermione eyed both of them, unsure of how to deal with the different thoughts and feelings at once. Usually her cool logic prevailed, but even sketchy motherhood had a way of clamping on one's heart. "You seem hesitant still, Kingsley." She could tell there was more. He had been in there for almost two hours.

"There are other considerations that come up with Time-Turners. There are spells and things in his memories that do not exist here. Things he knows of which could very well turn up here in the evolution of our time. Twenty years of unfettered Dark Arts and unrestricted magical research made it happen faster there, but the players are the same. Their basic make-up is the same. Those same persons could be developing those same things now somewhere in our timeline."

Harry was the first to figure out what Kingsley was saying. "And he would know the use and defense of that magic where we do not."

"Yes, exactly. Or he could accidentally bring a spell to life here that we might not have."

"Or want," Harry added.

There was a collective silence as everyone pondered this.

"But you are not worried about _him_ using Dark Magic? I honestly hope you are not suggesting that he's dangerous or that you intend to use a thirteen year old boy," Hermione asked. It sounded like he wanted the Aurors to pick the boy's brain!

Kingsley shook his head and put up a calming hand. He had truly not missed their rashness in jumping to conclusions in some situations.

Once her huff died down, he replied in his calm baritone, "No, no I don't think he's consciously dangerous, beyond not understanding our world or knowing where he fits into it. And if he could not control himself, even in the worst of circumstances, he would be dead. We can only ask him to control himself here if we know what we're asking him to control and tell him he is expected to do so." It was not like the boy understood their world at all. He could not tell them what he knew and did not know. A fact that could easily be taken for granted.

"Good, because I think we can all agree that after dying twice for our world, fighting for a collective 6 decades for the cause, we can likely safely assume Professor Snape did not raise his son to be the opposite." Hermione said.

"He _is_ just a boy," Harry said, diplomatically. "It is our fault he's here…"

Draco rolled his eyes. Yes, and all of them had done some pretty spectacularly advanced magic when they were thirteen. The sooner they got off it, their strange Gryffindor senses of childhood, the better they would all be.

Thankfully, the elder and cooler head of Kingsley dealt with Potter, "Oh, he is just a boy. In age, Harry. Not in magic. To survive that world with his parents and his memories, Severus spent _years_ teaching him magic to protect him, to make sure he could stay alive. You all were just children and did not know our Severus Snape as I did or Minerva; he knew very powerful magic to spy, and he started researching and developing his magic when he was still at school. As you know from Sectumsempra," Kingsley said, giving Harry a look. "He did not simply fool Voldemort with cunning, although he had plenty of that too. Did you neglect to think that Severus learned magic from both Dumbledore and Voldemort? The two greatest wizards of recent time? Both of them _needed_ him. That's no small feat. He was simply a professor to you lot, who was brave and knowledgeable in the end, but that is very little of what he was...that was his cover and all he ever wanted anyone to see. You are not a very good spy if all know your capabilities."

"What precisely do you mean, Kingsley?" Hermione probed.

He wished they all could think like a Slytherin. They would need to at least try if they were going to understand this boy at all. He shared a look with Draco, who kept smugly silent, rolling his eyes.

"If Severus Snape knew as many curses, jinxes, hexes as most 6th & 7th years when he entered Hogwarts, and even that did not protect him from his tormentors, precisely what do you think he would have taught his son to protect him from Death Eaters and a Dark Lord who would just as easily kill them all torturously as snap his fingers?" He asked her. "After he watched dozens and dozens of you kids die in the wars and thereafter, what do you think he would have taught his son to protect him?"

Hermione blanched some although her cool logic did provide the answer. It was the same one the boy had given him when he had asked, "Everything he could."

"Exactly," Kingsley replied, pointing at her as he did so, "And the boy has his brains and your brains. You're a very powerful witch, and Snape was a very powerful wizard."

"Oh Gods," Harry said, imagining an intellect more annoying that Hermione's when they were kids. There never was a spell that didn't like Hermione, and never a question that Hermione could not answer or miraculously find and learn the answer.

Kingsley nodded, "He doesn't need to learn magic as much as he needs to learn how to live a normal life, how to be a thirteen year old boy. He hasn't even had friends. You can absolutely forget about concepts like trust or safety. They have never existed to him."

"He was very frightened earlier, it was difficult for him to think we weren't going to hurt him, I think," Hermione said.

"I don't think he's entirely decided we are not going to hurt him," the former Minister answered. "He's perhaps decided we aren't going to torture him and kill him, but he assured me several times he knows right from wrong, despite where he comes from. There was a passing look of some recognition when I said I used to be an Auror."

"Torture and kill him!" Minerva said. "Whyever!"

"He cannot fathom you all are going to molly coddle him and welcome him with open arms. Do you think he has a very good frame of reference to figure out what might be happening? He doesn't know this world! He heard Auror and probably thought the entire purpose of Kingsley was because he was an _Auror_ , that you lot are interested in Dark Magic, not the political situation," Draco interjected.

"He's smart enough to know that a world without Voldemort is going to have difficulty understanding a thirteen year old who had killed people before," Kingsley let the veil fully drop away. It was worse than what they could possibly think. Even Harry had never seen the worst of it in his years as an Auror. The boy had seen and done things that they had not seen and done.

"He's _killed_ people?" Came the dual voices of the two women in the room.

"Not many, but it was compulsory or mercy," Kingsley affirmed. A grim truth but necessary. He did not want any reckless decision making, or rather any _more_ reckless decision making. Kingsley was not even wholly sure the lot of them had realized that _the two of them_ were responsible for that boy's 'horrible' life entirely; it was a real 13 years that had happened for that boy, for the only reason that they were careless with a Time-Turner.

" _Compulsory_?!" That was Harry.

McGonagall covered her mouth. For all the times Filch talked about torture in the dungeons!

"Like I said. That world was like nothing we can fathom. Absolute blackness. Students walking around hallways talking about shedding Mudblood entrails and getting traitor blood on their shoes. They stuck victims to the dungeon walls and let the students do whatever they wanted."

"They would be dead anyway, Potter," Draco said. "Trust me, there is mercy in a quick death if you're strong enough to do it." That was something he had grown to learn over his foul year plus of slave-service. "He'd be risking himself to do that, even. Quick deaths don't get the full sport of it." His lip curled, cringing at the memories.

"Correct," Kingsley said. "He'd been punished for _ruining_ one before, and was forced to blame it on the screaming disturbing his homework and giving him a headache, that he just couldn't take it anymore." It was far from a reality that could immediately make sense even in their minds. Not even their one year of the Carrows had been that bad with Snape doing what he might to temper it.

Everyone looked uncomfortable. Hermione kneaded her clasped hands, looking at them. Harry stared absently at a portrait. Draco's lips thinned so much, they disappeared. McGonagall almost seemed twitchy over such a gruesome situation.

Kingsley was reliving that portion of their talk in his own memories.

 _"Have you ever killed anyone before?"_

 _"...Yes, sir..."_

 _Dare he ask. "More than once?"_

 _The boy seemed highly uncomfortable. "S-seven times, sir, other than...for mercy."_

 _"Mercy?"_

 _"They were going to die worse deaths, drawn out deaths..."_

 _"And the others, the seven, on purpose?"_

 _"I hardly think it could be seven times on_ _ **accident**_ _, sir," the boy replied quietly, but with Snape snark. Then he elaborated more gently, "I didn't have a choice."_

At least they did not need to worry that the kid enjoyed any of it, because he surely had not. His body language and the way he spoke about it to someone he knew was from a different world betrayed that easily.

To break the silence, Kingsley said, "He is calm and rather quiet right now. There is no way he could produce such a Patronus if he held such Dark Magic like that world inside, but this is no simple matter. You cannot just expect him to mix seamlessly here once he's had some time to get over the shock. The problem is not that he will seek to hurt someone, but he thinks anyone might seek to hurt him because it's what he's used to. Any accidents where he thinks he's protecting himself, and you know how things can be."

The Prophet would go wild. Wizards had only wizened up a little since the Ministry fiascos of Fudge's days.

"Ruthless. They can write whatever they want, and Dark Magic still scares everyone absolutely silly. Not that you can really blame them," Hermione said. She had never been a fan of reporting in the magical world.

"Well we'd be doing a damned bloody bad job of finishing raising the Professor's child if we get him locked up in Azkaban," Draco said. "Listen, the man died twice to save our sorry selves, and his son is in that other room, probably scared out of his wits. The only person he has ever had, at all, just screamed to bits after being soul-sucked by a dementor, and you are all talking about trust and trying to understand or judge what he's had to do? Why don't we talk about how we are not going to leave him _alone_? If you want his trust so that he can feel safe so that others will feel safe, then you can't let him sit there. He will pull his armour up the longer you let him think about it. The Professor would have taught him to protect himself, you can bet on that. I know a little of what that's like." Of all of them, he knew.

The eyes then all turned to Draco, who seemed to have the strongest paternal drive of any of them despite not being as demonstrative with Scorpius. It was a bit shocking.

"Do you disagree?" The blond said, putting up his hands. "He knows a lot of dangerous magic. So what? Why do we not see what kind of kid he is? He seemed quiet to me, like Scorpius." He looked around to see what the others' assessments were.

"Down at the lake he was absolutely petrified, and if he was truly dangerous and that jumpy, I think we would have seen some spells then," Harry added. "He seemed in control of himself for a little guy."

"I am not worried about his magic or truly him, but he needs some time just to understand this world and to talk, to let out some of what has happened so he can understand the differences and learn how things work here," Kingsley said.

"To talk to someone who can also understand both worlds and their magic," Hermione finished the sentiment, rationality kicking in. "Why don't you take him, Kingsley, at least for now? I have a feeling he needs quiet, and I truly had Minerva call you because you know the most about, well, all of it." She looked at the blond who was gearing to object and said, "I would say you, Draco, but with the rumors about Scorpius and Voldemort already, you do not wish to add to them, and he knows a you from his other world." It was the same reason she did not think it wise for the boy to stay with her and Ron; that was spot on its head for the boy. Not to mention Ron.

That seemed to silence the blond, who qualified, "But if he wishes to contact me, you will let him." It was not a question, but a statement. It was simply best one of the Gryffindors was not left with the task; Kingsley, he could handle. Draco was more familiar than the Gryffindors with being surrounded by Death Eaters and what they got up to. Even he had a hard time fathoming an entire life and adolescence filled with a charade of it. If he was little Snape's godfather in some Dark World where he was also Scorpius' best friend, then he sure was not going to abandon the duty in this world. "In the meantime, I'll get him some clothes and things and bring them to your place, Kingsley."

"You know, this was not the peaceful retirement by the coast that I was anticipating," Kingsley said to the table. He already had known that was what needed to happen. The others would be too apt to go about things a way that would not be congruent with how things had been done with the boy thus far; the Gryffindor way, not the Slytherin way, or the Severus Snape way. After seeing some things of the boy's memories in the pensieve, he had already known it was not the stuff for bleeding hearts.

"You know, Kingsley, I never thought you the type to enjoy peaceful," Draco drawled. "Always looked your best when dueling a handful at once."

"Well, at least it will be better than my time as Secretary to the Muggle Prime Minister," he replied, with a chuckle.

"It's only until he more acclimated, then you can resume your beach walks," Harry added with a silly smile. At least all this activity meant that he could delay doing anything with his paperwork stack that Hermione kept bugging him about.

* * *

AN - Thanks to Duj and Prince-Slytherin for the reviews!

This was a rough chapter for me to write, but I think I accomplished what I needed to accomplish to move things forward :D Large group interactions are always a challenge for me. Some 'that was not as crappy as you're imagining it' would be lovely! I've edited this chapter way too many times.

That said... Read it? Review it! Please


	8. Chapter 8: What We Are & Could Have Been

**Chapter 8**

 **What We Are And Could Have Been**

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 **Special thanks to Duj and Prince Slytherin for their reviews! Feedback greases the wheels :D**

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When they arrived at Kingsley's house, Sev heard the sound of waves in the distance and saw in the moonlight that they must be on the coast. The air felt charged and fresh. It was fairly desolate. It _was_ an actual residence. Probably Unplottable and with enough warding to keep Muggles away.

He had decided that the huge black man was likeable when the former Minister had pretended to ask if Sev found the notion of staying with him temporarily acceptable. It had even seemed possible that if he had not said that it was, that there might be more discussion to the matter, but he was not that picky where he stayed so long as it wasn't a cell, dungeon, locked room, or holed at the Ministry. Or Azkaban. Because that all had occurred to him. Even if he rather knew the last was implausible, if only because he disqualified himself on being too young when the shock wore off.

They might say he was among friends, that he was safe, but he had not been so sure they were not just trying to get him to soften and hang himself. That was, unfortunately, more what he was used to from his old world. The tiny pebbles of evidence that they were not trying to fool him or lull him into false safety were growing into a little pile.

Dreamless Sleep had taken care of his first night, and while the thought of taking unknown Potions from any of them made him on his guard, he had eventually used it. He had, after all, been left the bottle with the comment "in case you need it, you'll know where it is." It was not as if he did not know how to recognize Dreamless Sleep. He did not have any 'things' for them to look through. He only had what was in his pockets when it had all happened. It seemed excessive to move him while he slept, so he had eventually decided it was safe, and he needed it. His father would have made him take it. That had likely been the deciding factor.

The following morning had not gotten enough beyond eggs to become awkward. Sev was, predictably, not very hungry, but he was managing to eat a few bites if only because he knew Dreamless Sleep did not agree with him without food.

And he needed to be able to keep his wits about him. Being in this odd place and time was no fit situation to get wholly complacent just because there was no Dark Lord.

Kingsley, meanwhile, was trying to glean as much as he could from what little the boy overtly gave, wasting little time on his own generous breakfast.

He figured the Little Snape either had enough determination or enough politeness to not hide in the bedroom all day. He had come to the kitchen early enough and with his eyes hazy enough that he had taken the potion, so Kingsley knew he could not have been awake long before emerging. There was obviously no way the former minister could know that was edged on by the side effects of the Dreamless Sleep Sev knew to be looming.

It probably should not have surprised him that the boy had been fully dressed in his trousers, shirt, and tie when he came down, but it had surprised him anyway. Whether that was habit, self-consciousness, or politeness again, Kingsley was not sure. His guest was put together from an appearance standpoint, no matter what had happened the day before. Kingsley wondered how many times Sev had to appear so unaffected after other horrors. He did not think even a well-trained thirteen year old could manage this without having had actual practice and experience he could relate to the situation.

The boy had not declined eating or shown much outward emotion at all. Surely the death of both parents impacted him, but Kingsley had yet to wholly glean how close they all were. He suspected it was not a lack of feeling, but a redirection of attention away from inward analyzing. Most Slytherins could run fairly cool when it was required. They were not hot-headed like Gryffindors. He knew enough from all the others yesterday that they boy had very truly been petrified and had cried, sobbed, and stuttered; one did not go from that to this without having emotional turmoil involved. It was just being carefully packed away.

 _It will take time for him to trust, and he has Snape's comfort with silence. His self-preservation skills too._

One did not successfully spy on Voldemort for that long without having those in abundance to pass on in over thirteen years of co-existence with a son.

Abandoning his thoughts, he said, "I would understand if you just wish to stay here and keep to yourself today. It has been rough for you."

Again, Sev surprised him by looking him passively in the eye and saying, "Actually, sir, would you mind if I asked you some questions?"

 _Straight to the point_. Kingsley finished his last bite and replied, "You can always ask me whatever you like." Taking a sip of juice, he gestured with the cup as he swallowed and then added, "I used to answer questions all day and most far sillier than any you will think to ask. Don't be shy or quiet or stand on ceremony because you think you'll bother me."

"Are there still followers of the Dark Lord? Or other practitioners of Dark Magic here?"

"Some, to answer both, but the activity is very quiet and infrequent. After their numbers were decimated, it became a little easier to keep an eye on it and track down the more boisterous and dangerous of offenders."

"They told me my father was a great hero here, so I'm assuming it's common knowledge that he had been working for Dumbledore?"

Kingsley had already figured out that the boy was now trying to assess what _outside_ danger he might be in beyond their immediate group and the Ministry.

"Yes, Harry had his memories. Plus, Dumbledore had already testified once in the aftermath of the first war that he was spying for their side, so there was something of a sensible timeline."

"So my father has enemies here?" he asked.

"As do I. Many. Do you feel in danger because I have enemies and you are with me?"

The boy's brow furrowed. "Hm, point taken, sir."

Kingsley raised a brow, but he did not have much time to ponder if the point was taken before the boy continued. The lack of segue rather proved the point was taken.

"I am," the kid paused, perhaps gathering himself. "I am at a disadvantage here that's dangerous…from what I'm used to."

Instead of what he might say to a child who was afraid of danger, he replied as he might to an adult, tweaked some. "Son, any of those left that might want to do you harm won't see you coming from a million miles away," he chuckled heartily. Having seen some of the boy's memories the night before, he could say with a bit of confidence that anyone would underestimate what the brainy pipsqueak was capable of doing magically. "This world has been fairly benign. Children here don't even know much about that sort of magic."

"Well, erm, sir, trusting in an unknown person's stupidity or foolishness isn't a very good defense either way."

Kingsley only laughed more. "Oh you are your father's son, most certainly."

"It's just that I…I've rarely ever felt that I did not know what's going on. It's uncomfortable."

The former minister could not chuckle at that. "You will. Just give it time. You're prepared enough for dangers in this world, even if you don't believe it. And you'll be with me for a little while, and until you're prepared by your standards, there's no better person to be with." Kingsley saluted the boy with his tea cup and took a sip.

"Are there any modern history books covering the last two decades? Or, erm, something discussing the rebuilding and legal ramifications since the war?"

"And you are Hermione Granger's son too," he replied, putting an almost comically serious look on his face. "I am sure that there are, and there is probably no better person to give you an assortment than her."

At some point very soon, the boy was going to have to get used to the idea that he had a mother who had not been his mother. The sooner, the better. With Snape's proclivities for avoidance, the last thing Kingsley wanted was to let the boy develop a habit of avoidance.

"That would give me something to do." _To keep my mind off other things...  
_

* * *

Although he had been prepped the Draco Malfoy was far tamer in this world, Sev still felt on edge to see the man and not know what to expect. He was used to a world where Scorpius was his best friend and Mr. Malfoy was his godfather, but in that world Scorpius was a budding sociopath and Mr. Malfoy not much better. He had known them his entire life.

At least in that world, he knew what to expect from the elder blond. Right now he felt like he stood there foolishly in front of the couch he had been sitting on as Draco brushed off a speck of soot. They had spoken only briefly the night before.

He ventured, "Hello, sir." He was not really sure what else to say. That feeling was a frequent one. It had never bothered him if he did not have anything to say in his old world.

"Hello." There was a strange pause, and then he said, "I never asked what you preferred to be called. What did my other self call you?" Malfoy was a realist, no ignoring the white elephant in the room.

It earned a ghost of a smile, "You called me Sev, sir. Most people did, to not confuse me with my father."

"Severus is rather larger than words for you."

That got a lopsided smile. "That's strange that you say so, sir."

"How so?"

Sev wet his lips and said, cautiously, "It was not you that said so in my world, it was, erm, Mrs. Malfoy. She also said it was too stern for me." There was a hitch of a pause before he continued, "Is…?"

The blond wizard could not answer right away. He sat there rather stony-faced for a moment, thinking, not about the question but about the revelation.

"No, she's not, at least one similarity with your world," the blond finally answered.

"I shouldn't have said anything, sir."

He waved it off. "In your world my Scorpius was your best friend?" A redirection of the Slytherin variety.

"Yes, my only friend really." Inside Sev felt _something_ for the possibility that the Scorpius here could be more like the Scorpius from when they were younger. In all of this bloody mess and misery, the universe could be kind enough to give him back his best friend if it was going to give him this new life that he had not wanted.

"Your father was my godfather, you know?" Malfoy said.

"Yes, sir, in my world as well, and Scorpius'…and you were mine."

Why Mr. Malfoy seemed relieved, letting out a breath through his nose, Sev had no idea.

"And I would still be, if you wish it. Your father was more formative to me than my own in many ways."

The kindness with which he said it made time seem to stop for Sev for the first time since time had severed his life in two. If Mr. Malfoy could emanate such emotion, perhaps his hopes for Scorpius were not unfounded.

It did not end there, though. He looked up at Malfoy's ice blue eyes, his own a bit wide.

"He was like a father to me though I was too immature to realize, more than my own, braver than my own. He _did_ things for _me_. Not for the family name. I miss him."

Sev felt his throat ache, and he knew tears might threaten. He tried to take in a breath and hold it quietly and harshly in his chest. Of all the people he had spoken to, people who had promised he was safe, people who had spoken of how his father's death had hit them and their regrets, not a one had truly said they missed him. Not in a way that made it seem they knew his father, in a real way, at all.

"When you wish to talk about him, let me know."

"I will, sir," he heard himself whisper. He was not ready to confront those thoughts head on yet.

"I've brought you some things for until it's sorted out if they can do something with your father's account at Gringotts. With Goblins, who knows how long that might be."

Sev smiled, that was very much so like his own Mr. Malfoy. Spending money was a pastime. His charcoal eyes got even larger as his newly offered godfather started magicking bags back to full size.

"Sir! You got me a broom!" he burst out when that was enlarged and held out to him like something as insignificant as a quill.

Necessities he had expected. Some shirts, trousers, shorts, so he wasn't running about starkers or in the same clothes for a week. This Mr. Malfoy did not even know him.

"Good, you like quidditch then. Were you on the team in your world? Seeker? Chaser?"

A wry smile accompanied, "Beater, sir. Since second year. Scorpius was the Seeker, sir."

"Beater?" Nobody ever believed he was one, and if they did, they never imagined he was very good.

"I'm stronger than I look, and I know more maths than the big oafs, so I hit very accurately."

"And Scorpius said he was apparently an excellent Seeker in your world?"

"The best at school, sir, easily. I do a good job of keeping bludgers away from him, though." He had been flying with Scorpius since they had learned to fly, so they did make very intuitive teammates.

"He said he wants to try to practice more."

"He's not on the team here, sir?" Up went a dark eyebrow. That was hard to fathom. Scorpius was known for two things: Quidditch and violence.

"No, he is not the most confident of his capabilities, although this little excursion seems to have emboldened him some. He's had a lot of anxiety about pain and death." If anyone could help the younger blond get over that particular mental block, Draco would take advantage of it.

Sev was confused for a moment over Scorpius having anxiety over anything. Anger was easier to imagine than anxiety. Then he figured it must have something to do with Mrs. Malfoy's death. It had hit Scorpius hard. In his world, it pushed Scorpius over the edge. Had it pushed him over the opposite edge here? Nothing Mr. Malfoy had just said sounded much of anything like Scorpius, but in a good way.

"Well, I'll practice with him, especially now that I have a broom. I know what he can do, in a way."

Mr. Malfoy smiled. Sev had not seen that in his world for some time. Not this sort of smile. A smug smile. A powerful smile. Yes. Not this smile.

* * *

Kingsley wiped the sweat from his face. "You are a good little dueler. I did not think it would be that much fun." Breathing in a hint of his fighting days, he chuckled.

The boy smiled that quiet smile, pushing pieces of loose black hair behind his ears. He was not very talkative, even after a week, but he was far more comfortable. He rubbed surreptitiously at his hip, having taken a good few blows to the ground.

"How did you get so good at rebounding spells with your blocks?" Kingsley asked. If there was one thing to be said about his thirteen-year-old technique, it was that he took heavy advantage of simple things that required intense focus and practice, not an overabundance of magical energy that most kids could not sustain for very long.

"Loads of maths and work with angles mostly, sir, and repetition, endless _endless_ repetition."

"Saves you energy and lets you send more spells without having to cast them." His tone reflected the wisdom of that technique. He doubted the boy had come up with it himself.

"And saves me from any moral qualms, sir. If you send it at me, nobody can complain if you get what you gave," the boy added, with a sly look.

Snape, no doubt, realized all three of those things. "Your father was a very smart to have you practice that skill, and you must have worked very hard."

"He was, sir, and a very good strategist." The mention of his father no longer made him completely silent. "Working hard is not difficult when the alternative is torture and death, sir, and I had a lot of reminders about working hard."

"You should give yourself credit, son. That was a motivator, but it was you that accomplished what you did."

Thinking about it, and perhaps even thinking about a thing called _conversation,_ the boy divulged, "The blocking I practiced ridiculously as soon as I figured out that I could use it in dueling club to take out the more vicious students without having to use any of the worst magic myself and that it'd give me two spells to their every spell."

Kingsley smiled. That was his kind of Slytherin, for sure. Cunning took away a lot of the need for overt bravery, but bravery was much more obviously lauded, even if it killed you.

"I won a lot," the boy added.

The former minister noticed a smug happiness in that fact, probably bolstered by the fact that it was probably one of few acceptable ways he could protect the more defenseless students against the worst of the attackers without putting himself at risk. In fact, it likely did the opposite. If you are not afraid of the worst of the worst and can take one of them out, you probably earn a 'scary' moniker fairly quickly.

"I would think you did." Kingsley chuckled again. "I doubt even in that world underaged witches and wizards would be that skilled at using their blocks for an added offense." Most had enough issue knowing a correct block or counter to that many spells. "I'd imagine your silent spells did not hurt either."

"Vocal chords don't make the magic," the boy replied, with practicality. "I never understood why so few were able to use them for more than simple things, sir." There was a pause, "A silent spell would never matter for the simple things…"

"No, they wouldn't," he agreed. "Learning the focus and discipline of the mind for Occlumency very young made a lot of things far easier for you than others I think."

"Yes, sir, probably. Not much point in bungling about trying to control magic if you cannot control the thing that is supposed to control the magic, is there?"

There was another chuckle of disbelief. The boy did not say much, but some of the things he said came out like a little philosopher. "I have a feeling your father was very thorough in more than just teaching you magic."

"I should hope so, sir. He was my father, not just my professor or even Head of House," Sev replied, as if that had been the most obtuse statement ever, his eyebrows knitting some in confusion. There was far more to life than magic.

Kingsley laughed a loud, reverberating laugh that seemed to startle the boy, who was probably not used to such unexplained jubilation. "Very true, son, very true."

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AN: We'll be heading back to Hogwarts in the upcoming chapters and also another flashback! Sorry for the long update time :D Labor Day weekend sucked a lot of writing time away.

Little Sev being good with his blocks is actually a nod to canon Snape being skilled at the same.

Let me know what you think of this chapter! What might be in store for Little Sev next?


	9. Chapter 9:Fraternity,Loyalty,Loneliness

Chapter 9

Fraternity, Loyalty & Loneliness

(Flashback chapter - set just as summer ends...)

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The silence of the morning was even thicker than usual. Sev was still wearing his pajama pants and had bed head, and he did not seem to be in any hurry to get dressed. He pushed food around more than ate, and thus said volumes without saying nary a word.

"You do not look very happy about going to Diagon Alley," the professor said to his son. In fact, he had not seen the boy look less happy in weeks.

"I don't know what to say," Sev replied, putting down his fork and ending the painful playing with his breakfast.

"It's not a trick question, nor a difficult one." One fatherly eyebrow arched. Those sorts of statements were always a prelude to something far more than what seemed on the surface when dealing with his son.

"It is, Dad, in a way." It was difficult to him.

 _What could possibly be so difficult about Diagon Alley?_ Since the boy wasn't expounding, he ventured a guess. "It means going back to Hogwarts soon, and you never like going back," he began. That part he knew, but he didn't need to look into the boy's mind to know it was more than that. He hoped starting it would drag the rest out. Usually Diagon Alley still managed some sort of anticipation no matter how much his son hated school. There were Quidditch supplies and books in Diagon Alley, his son's two favourite things. Unfortunately, the boy did not continue the tale from his prompt. Whatever it was deeply bothered him. Sev was usually was fairly open with him.

"Why don't you just tell me what's wrong?" he simply asked the boy.

"You're going to think it's foolish, sir."

 _Oh._ He steeled himself, looking at those charcoal grey eyes. He also did not fail to note his son switched to 'sir,' an ominous portent indeed. His aversion to foolishness was clearly well driven home for the boy which was just as well in some ways and probably very obtrusive right now. "Dissecting what might be a foolish thought is probably superior to either living with the potential foolishness in your head or it turning into a foolish action."

"That doesn't help, sir," the boy said, in a voice that had just the ghost of a childish whine.

"Sev," he began, trying to hold back a chuckle. "If you think 100% lack of foolishness is possible at thirteen, you might need to reevaluate. That thought, son, is foolishness already." He let out an amused snort. "As is sitting here pushing your breakfast around."

"Dad!"

He'd torture it out of the boy verbally if he had to. Pushing thirteen year old buttons was quite easy after so much practice and the added value of it being his own blood. "Just get it over with. You know my patience for circumlocution is not much longer than for foolishness, at some point one runs into the other."

There was a rather impertinent eyeroll. "It's just…"

He arched his eyebrows as if that would somehow help draw the words out. It was painful to watch. What could possibly be so bad and potentially foolish?

"I…I feel like I lose my best friend every time we go back to Hogwarts."

"You do," he replied to the boy, his eyes narrowing and a furrow forming on his brow for a moment. "What is so foolish about that?"

"It makes me sad…"

"Which proves you have a heart. And?"

"And mad and lonely…"

"True and true. Not particularly irrational." He failed to see the level of foolishness he was expecting…

"But why should a friend bother me. Why should I need any of that? You don't."

"Are you so sure?" Just because one had to or did do without 'friends,' had nothing to do with need. Despite his tendencies, he was well aware humans and thus also wizards were social animals, herd animals. Unfortunately.

"You don't really even have Mum to talk to anymore…"

"Well I surely never told you to wholly follow my example either way." He tried not to laugh at his son. Sometimes it was the smallest things; with what the boy handled on a daily basis, it was easy to forget that he was just a boy.

"Dad!"

"Okay, but you did not expect to give such a dramatic lead in over this and not have me tease you?"

A grumble was his response.

In a tone of understanding, the professor said, "You think that being sad over losing a companion you've had since birth for over three-quarters of the year makes you foolish and weak, and you are embarrassed of me being disappointed in you for feeling that way?"

The boy looked at him as if he was the most potent seer to walk the Earth.

"How do you do that, Dad?"

"Sometimes I forget you're only thirteen." He sat back and looked down at the boy. "First, you're my son and a great deal like me when I was your age. Second, I've been in your head quite enough to know how you think. Third, I raised you, so I put those values and ideals in you to start with. Need I continue to explain my grand powers of deduction?"

The boy gave him the most scathing look a pipsqueak with long, black, bushy hair escaping from a braid could manage.

He continued, "Feelings aren't foolish. Talk about them if you wish, don't if you don't. What makes them foolish is when you let them control you and your actions. So, perhaps you are slightly foolish if you intend to mope around over Scorpius before term has even started when you could be buttering me up for new supplies or books…"

That cracked a smile from the teenager. "I don't need to 'butter you up,' Dad."

"Yes, I am woefully aware," he pretended, his lips quirking. It took diligence, on both their parts, but his son was a good kid and did what he was asked, so there was little spoiling involved when he didn't refuse the boy much.

"I just wish Scorpius was the same at school as home, it would not be so bad to think about going back then."

Fatherhood had always reminded him of the poignancy of feelings. He saw the differences in Scorpius, but he did not have to feel them. He was the boy's godfather, not his best friend. Scorpius over the summer was far more low-key and like he had been before Astoria had passed. Draco would never put up with the boy's grandiosity or idiocy.

Unfortunately, whacking bludgers at each other, playing wizard's chess, and investigating bizarre books in either family library was not life. He would not ruin it for his son by telling him it likely would only continue to get worse as they got older.

Lucius had always been older than him, but in many ways, there were parallels. He too had lost a close friend in the violence and necessary duplicity life had become.

Scorpius Malfoy over the summer was a fourteen year old boy who was cowed by his father and free from the increasing positive reinforcement of brutality and narcissism. Scorpius Malfoy was not even Scorpius Malfoy at Hogwarts, he was the ridiculous Scorpion King, which was amazingly ludicrous and Scorpius was neither stealthy, nor quick, nor 100x more deadly than his size. The Scorpion King was a budding killer, and there was very little he or Sev could do about it, no matter how strong or loyal their friendship remained.

* * *

"It's our second night here, what could you possibly need to read, Snape?" Flint sneered at him. The brown-haired 6th year apparently thought attempting to ridicule him was a good way to get Sev to want to go somewhere.

"Your brain cannot understand that it's not what I _need_ to be doing, it's what I _want_ to be doing. Clearly, your desire for my company is far greater than my desire for yours and a bunch of screaming Mudbloods," Sev said back, not raising his eyes from his book, lounging on a corner of the couch in the common room.

"You're squeamish," the older boy taunted.

"Haven't we done this enough to know what happens?" Scorpius drawled, leaning on the back of the couch next to Sev as he sauntered over.

"One might think," Sev muttered to his friend, drawing Scorpius to chuckle.

"You _know_ he's not squeamish, Flint. At least think of an insult that makes sense before his tongue cuts you into a million pieces," the Malfoy heir said.

Sev said acerbically to Flint, "Will my list of reasons make you leave sooner? It's a waste of my time. I don't need the practice. I prefer to keep my tactics to myself for Dueling Club. The screaming gives me a bloody headache. And how do you think I got so good at my spellwork, Flint?" He held up the book as a clue and shook it at the idiot. "Not to mention my father is a far better teacher than for me to be left with the need to practice in a dungeon corridor on targets stuck to a wall for convenience."

Scorpius chuckled and shook his head at Flint. "Told you. Why do you even pester him?"

"He should have been a bloody Ravenclaw," Flint groused.

"Maybe you should pick up a book sometimes, make sure your brain is still there, Flint," Sev added, not looking up from his book. "It takes no cunning, nor ambition, nor leadership, nor resourcefulness, nor cleverness to make a bunch of dolts on a wall bleed. It's idiotic enough for a Gryffindor."

"Don't!" Scorpius barked, standing suddenly from his reclining position. Predictably, Flint was easy to provoke to wanting to pull out his wand like most Neanderthals. "It won't end well and none of us need Professor Snape's lectures and detention this early in term."

Sev lazily raised his eyes from his book to gauge whether the two might actually _use_ their wands.

Flint growled, "Why do you always stand up for him?"

"So he doesn't hex you stupid. What makes you think it's him that needs standing up for anyway? I just know how this ends, and I _do_ want to make it out of the common room tonight. We all know Sev prefers his books, and we all know he could send you to the hospital wing easily if he wanted to. What does he have to prove to you?"

"He thinks he can just do what he wants because his father is our Head of House!" The 6th year was one of those that was cranky for not getting their way and jealous.

"Because reading a book, at school, is so obviously special favour," Sev drawled.

Scorpius laughed. Sev snorted, shaking his head and enjoying watching Scorpius argue over him; Flint wasn't worth either of their breath, really. He wondered the selfsame thing about Malfoy's company, for the opposite reason.

Scorpius stopped laughing long enough to say, "Stop trying to pass off things that are so obviously shit, Flint. He's the last one of us that has it easy because of Professor Snape, and you know it! He has to do hours of extra stuff every week; it's like having permanent detention."

Sev preferred to think of it as being a good son, but that was beside the point. Whether he minded or not, he surely did not have it easy and definitely not easier than the other Slytherins.

"You should stay out of it, Malfoy. I don't know why you even like him." Flint was not the only Slytherin that asked one of them why they were so loyal to the other when they were just short of opposites. Flint was one of few idiotic enough to make a thing of it like he was doing.

"Bloody hell, we're like family. Professor Snape is my godfather. My father is his godfather. Give over on it already. Let him read, baiting him over not going with us is stupid and pointless. He's not going to come, and even if he did, he wouldn't be any fun at it!"

"Fine, let's go then." Flint stalked off.

"How do you stand being around someone so stupid?" Sev hissed.

"Everyone needs minions."

"He's two years older than you."

"Everyone needs minions," Scorpius reiterated with a lopsided and rather sinister smile.

"Okay, Scorpion King." Sev eyerolled. Scorpius might think he was a fourteen year old puppet master, but he had no idea that his strings were, and would always be, being pulled too.

"I'll see you in the morning to run."

"Always."

Scorpius turned to leave and then turned back for a second, "I didn't mean anything by saying you wouldn't be fun at all."

"I wouldn't be," Sev replied. "It's fine." He knew his best friend had just lied to him. It was nice to know Scorpius cared about his feelings enough to lie. He was not the sort of fun Scorpius enjoyed having at Hogwarts, and he'd already come to terms with that even if it hurt. They still had loyalty and fraternity, that was something.

Other than sarcastic commentary together during meals or classes, this was what their friendship became during the school year: a series of moments of neither of them enjoying most of what the other did with their time, nor the company kept, broken up only by habit and their shared loved of Quidditch.

* * *

AN

 **Thanks to Duj, as always, for the review!**


	10. Chapter 10: Hogwarts Redux

AN – I know in CC Rowling specifies that at some point they have a female Potions professor with smoky eyes or some BS, probably with Albus making wanton faces at her LOL, but I'm ignoring that. Here's my reason why: first, there's no characterization for this person nor a name, and I don't really fancy making one up. It's not an important aspect of anything in canon so far as I could see, so I'm going to use Slughorn still. I like his character better, and I also prefer to write guys, even though I'm not one. Not to mention there's way more plot and development opportunity with Slughorn. Agonizing over this is what slowed the chapter, my apologies! And now onto the good stuff.

* * *

Chapter 10

Hogwarts Redux

* * *

Professor McGonagall had decided that the best way to see where he was at in all his classes was to have each professor test him. After all, it was quite clear you could not compare the curriculum across his worlds. Each presumably taught a lot of things differently as well as instructing in things the other did not. It seemed as good an idea to Sev as any. He had already been bored in a lot of his classes in his own world, and he surely did not want to be even more bored.

Whether thankfully or not, Potions was the first the headmistress thought to start on considering the professor was also his Head of House.

 _He's ancient!_ Sev thought as he took in Professor Slughorn when they entered the classroom. He barely kept a straight face. _I'm actually taller than someone…_

The aging professor was quite short and portly. Easily three times Sev's weight. Perhaps four. It was hard to tell with the professor's choice of robes. They looked at each other on eye level.

"My but do you definitely look like both your parents!" Slughorn said, his eyes moving from this feature to that feature without any sort of remorse for the open wonder as he did it.

Sev, for his part, blinked and then seemed unsure how to respond for a moment. Finally, he settled on, "Thank you, sir," whether it had been a compliment or not. In his world nobody knew _both_ his parents, so it was odd to him. He was more used to comments of his similarity to his father, even if he realized the thankful bit of softness his mother's features gave him and the curse of her extraordinarily thick hair.

"I thought you said he was a 4th year?" the man then said to McGonagall.

In Slughorn's defense, he was small for his age. "I am, sir. Was?" he replied. It felt strange to think of it in past tense.

"Well then, I'd imagine with your father, 4th year potions would be rather easy." He still seemed to eye Sev's size. One might have thought he'd be taller. His father was not precisely short.

Sev shrugged, "Most potions are rather easy for me, sir." In his world, it had been a very long time since anyone had somehow insinuated him more delicate because he was under-average in size. The raised brow staring, innocuous though Slughorn seemed, had Sev raise both his eyebrows in return, rather pointedly.

Slughorn did not seem bothered but thankfully stopped looking at him strangely. "What is the most difficult potion you know how to brew then?" That would surely narrow down things.

"That depends on your definition of difficult, sir, but I can make Veritaserum and Wolfsbane."

"Merlin's Beard, can you really?" Slughorn had to hold his belly for a moment.

Sev did not bother to hide the amusement from his face. There was little point in exerting the effort here, and it seemed everyone else was horrible transparent. "Yes, sir, and I did quite frequently."

Never mind that his father was almost always there. Sev could do it by himself if he needed to; that was a good portion of the point of learning was being able to stand on his own. Unfortunately, the quantity was not conducive to one person brewing.

"Well then, why don't you make me the most difficult thing you can make in three hours?" Slughorn said, figuring that would be significantly challenging and revealing.

The elderly Potions master looked to the Headsmistress and raised a white brow. In a whisper, he said, "If he can brew Wolfsbane, there's not likely much he will learn from me."

"It must be strange for him to be around potions but not…" _his father_.

"Mmm," Slughorn agreed.

"But it's familiar to him at least. Severus always was escaping into his potions and his research." She watched as the boy went about setting himself up and gathering what he needed, not paying them any attention at all. "Apparently, he helped his father with all sorts of potions for the school and _elsewhere_. At your age, you could use a little help if he's up to it." Her eyebrow quirked meaningfully. Normal socialization was more the immediate goal of his education at this point.

"He would be very bright then, what with Severus and Hermione?"

"Very, Horace." She eyed him. "Don't scare him off or we might end up with another hermit."

"Pfff," he tittered. "Minerva, I'm very used to Slytherins and knew enough how to deal with his father." He had learned how to deal with all sorts of tendencies from the various houses; the best of the best did not just come from Slytherin. A time-twisted wizard was interesting enough, even a wee one.

"I'll come back in a few hours, see how it went."

Horace nodded her out and then hummed a bit as he watched the boy start to brew. He walked a bit closer. The boy began preparing ingredients. He was not distracted a bit which was a far cry from the nervousness of most young people being tested _alone_.

It was just more than two hours later than Minerva returned. Sev was brewing away. She smiled at him, but he didn't notice. Horace have her a little wave from the desk but didn't get up himself. It had become crystal very quickly that he did not need to watch too carefully.

"So?" she asked, after she joined him and sat down. "Is he about done?"

Horace leaned in. "Haven't the foggiest."

"What do you mean 'haven't the foggiest?'"

"I haven't the first idea what he is making, Minerva. It's nothing in our curriculum or anything commonplace." He made an ugly face and said, "Unless I am truly becoming that old and I'm disremembering. I do hope not." His eyes were quite buggy.

She sighed and watched their new Mr. Snape a few moments. "Kingsley had said that he knew spells that we do not have or know, and with how inventive Severus could be, there may be any number of things that only the two of them know as well."

"Well, that'd be a cheek, to make something he knows we won't know," Horace said, amused more than perturbed.

"It's not like he can know whether we know something or not in this world, so he might not realize."

"Whatever he's making, he's doing it very well. His knife skills rival mine, very quick and exacting. Gets harder when your older, you know. His timing is impeccable too."

Minerva watched, but she had no real appreciation of potions skill to pipe in much. "Yes, Severus always had that sort of intense focus."

"Bizarre to see one so young so proficient." Slughorn mused. "Severus himself was nowhere near that good at that age, though had the promise for it."

* * *

Albus kept trying not to glance at the newcomer, but he was not very sly about it. Scorpius was fiddling with and biting his lips. At least Scorpius did that in this world too.

They were supposed to accompany him from the Headmistress' office to the common room to get him settled in. It seemed a bit odd. It's not as if he did not know how to get there. Nor did he _know_ either of these two, other than Scorpius having the same face and genetics of his former best friend. They might know more of his situation than he did of them.

The silence was so thick with awkwardness, Sev was forced to break it.

"I don't bite, you know. If there's something you wish to say, you can just say it…or ask it." Perhaps it helped that this Scorpius at least looked like his Scorpius, or Sev might not have said anything. He had never been overly loquacious, but the thought of being lonelier here in this bizarre place than within the horrors of his home world was unpalatable.

"Did you ever meet, erm…" Albus trailed off when Scorpius gave him a look.

"Meet? Meet who?" Sev turned his head and arched a brow. "You might as well finish." There was no accusation to his tone, merely bluntness. His eyes went to the portraits. Some of them were different from his world, and it was a bit curious, like his mind was being overwritten.

"Did you meet…Voldemort?" Albus had thankfully opted not to use Moldy Voldy this time, but it made the question little better.

Sev's head snapped back to Potter. That was not the question Sev had anticipated. _Who asks that?_

Scorpius looked mortified.

"Yes," Sev replied, with a stiffness in his jaw following. It didn't dissipate until he swallowed a few times.

The other two did not seem to know what to say to that for a moment. Even after Sev's, he thought, somewhat difficult reply, it seemed that Potter inherited some Gryffindor in there somewhere; it seemed since he'd started, he might as well continue.

"Were you afraid?" was the ridiculous follow-up question.

"Yes." Sev clenched his fists down at his sides, trying his best not to call attention to it. Those memories Potter was tweaking at were not pleasant ones. Yet, he was a pragmatist, and he knew he was going to have to depend upon them to answer many of his, for their world, idiotic questions.

"Did you…Do you…have…you know?" Potter gestured to his arm.

Sev looked down at his arm and contemplated the inside of his forearm. "The Dark Mark? No, I would not have been considered worthy of it." He probably would not have lasted long enough to ever be, so he'd never worried over it, but it mattered little now. No Dark Marks to enslave people here.

"Albus, that's all not really something you want to talk about," Scorpius finally said, not as aggressive in this world. "None of it is."

Sev shrugged, "Better than if everyone were to whisper about it." He looked at a picture of a very drunk monk singing. "It's probably unavoidable with where I come from."

"Nobody should find out it was all Dark. We're not supposed to talk about it around anyone else," Scorpius said. Although there would always be wild rumours; he knew firsthand the wizarding world was full of such. He looked like a Malfoy and people still went on about him being Voldemort's son.

"What did you get for a timetable for your extra classes?" Scorpius asked.

That was far more the sort of question Sev had been anticipating to begin with. "It's a bit odd, but it's what the headmistress wanted to do given the differences between both Hogwarts."

He handed the piece of paper over to Scorpius. Albus looked over his best mate's shoulder.

"Odd? What classes do you actually take with the rest of us?" Albus asked.

"She stuck you in with the 6th years for Arithmancy and Runes?" Scorpius almost looked envious.

"Wait, where's Potions, Defense, and History of Magic?"

Sev blinked at all the questions at once and then said, "Not many, I don't think. I don't have to take either of those three." He was not used to this much conversation at once.

"Not at all?" Albus asked.

"The professors tested me some in their subjects, and with all the things I had to learn with defense, Dark Arts, and Potions in my world from my father, there was little point in having me do them here. So far as History of Magic, I need to learn more about your contemporary history than the common far past."

"You're going to take Muggle Studies?" Scorpius asked, looking up again once he'd come to that bit.

"Really?" Albus echoed, glancing at the parchment again.

"Yes, well, a 'Go to Hell!' to the worst parts of my former life made me feel radically deviant and vindictive in a good way." He paused when he noted their laughter at his spontaneous and emotion-laden declaration. "Besides, I'm far from as pureblooded as either of you. I have three Muggle grandparents, not even Muggleborn, and I know absolutely nothing about any of that."

"Makes sense, actually," Scorpius said. "Hmm." He played with his lips again, obviously thinking about something.

"Nothing at all about Muggles?" Albus asked.

"Not at all. In my world, there wasn't any mixing like that. Nobody spoke about Muggle things other than to deride them or plot their murder…"

Albus looked a bit sick at that thought. Scorpius nodded, coming out of his thoughts. "I told you, Albus, I was bloody happy to be back. That's why I nearly drowned you. It was bad." He paused and looked down at Sev. "Erm, sorry mate, but it was."

"Sorry? It was, so there's nothing to be sorry about. Now I can find out things I was always curious about, at least." It became easier not to feel emotional over the loss of his parents, and there was little redeeming about that world other than he had been happy and had parents there. The world, itself, was horrid.

"Glad I missed that one," Albus mused.

Strange to be thankful for being tossed into non-existence. Sev could easily imagine it now, though.

"You were temporarily blinked out of existence and I was blinked into it. Odd to think on, that." Sev pushed a piece of wavy black hair that had escaped his braid back behind his ear. "It certainly wasn't a blink to me, and I'm sure it felt like an instant and not days to you."

Ever since this had happened, his mind was pricked by a strong desire to learn more about the nature of time. He wondered if the wards on the Restricted Section were the same.

After a silence where they were all musing, Scorpius randomly said, "I wonder if Old Slughorn will let me take up Muggle Studies…"

Thankfully, they arrived at the door. Sev didn't want them to feel like they needed to do something for him. He genuinely wanted to know more about Muggles.

An odd thought to have while stepping into the common room of Slytherin House. At least in his world. The space was the same but different. Lighter. There was music and someone with a very loud Wizard's Chess set, and it was worthy of jaw-dropping if that were Sev's style. Instead he looked about a bit mesmerized for a moment and then feigned indifference.

"Not smelling of blood is an improvement," he said, under his breath.

Scorpius snickered and Albus had to make a 'gross' face again.

* * *

 **Thanks to Duj and HermioneHotchner1 for their reviews!**


	11. Chapter 11: Peace and Quiet, or Not

AN - Public service announcement - I did an oops and cut off the last bit of the last chapter somehow when I updated it, so if you read it shortly after I posted it, best to check and make sure you read the full version from after I fixed it!

Chapter 11

Peace and Quiet, or Not

* * *

By the time Sev made it to the safety of his bed on his first night, he decided that his house had some sort of unusual hero worship of his father. The attack by prefects had filled him with a sort of paranoia about over-exuberant Slytherins promising to look out for him like he was a first year. He got that he was small, but he really disliked being patronized, and it was not like he could tell them he came from a dark world that would make them piss themselves. Not because it was rude, but because he was not supposed to talk about those particulars. Otherwise, he would have.

Even days later most of the other students were still curious, though uncertain of him. They were nice to him, but they did not know what to say to him nor him to them, it seemed. His odd class schedule and speculation about his mental prowess seemed to dominate most questions and conversations. He talked some to Scorpius and Albus, mostly about how things were different and a few tame stories, but other than that it was mostly people annoyingly making sure he was fine.

He was alive. That was fine, he supposed. It was day three, and he had escaped outside, wandering further than most bothered to on the grounds so that he'd have some quiet.

He'd spelled his robe bigger and spread it out before laying down on it and opening this world's 4th year Transfiguration book. He read with a sort of bored laziness over what they were covering the next two weeks. It was not even one of his better subjects and none of it was very hard.

He was about to reach for a different book when he was jolted by a chipper voice.

"Hello."

Rolling to the side, he raised his head and saw Albus' younger sister standing there waving at him. Cutely. Little girls did not look cute in his world most of the time; they looked terrified.

"I'm Lily," she said. "Albus' sister. Lily Potter." She smiled and held out a flower she had probably picked from less than fifteen feet away.

He smiled and accepted it anyway, firm in his internal quest to externalize some kindness. The innocence of the gesture warmed him, but he was far too young to even realize what it was that made him like her just then. It was some rare novelty he had never seen, innocence. He might have been drawn to it like a moth to the light.

"You're Severus, right?"

He realized he had probably been staring and not in a becoming way. "Hi Lily. Yes, that's...yes," he replied, starting off rather awkwardly. "I do know you're Albus' sister," he added.

"Can I join you?" She pointed to his pseudo-blanket.

"Yes. Sure." He reached his hand out to take the books she was holding so she could sit down. She looked a little surprised that he did so.

"You have really long hair," she observed, reaching out and touching the braid of black hair that passed his shoulders.

"So do you," he replied as she settled herself down.

She giggled. "Albus ignores me, and Scorpius just stares at Rose when I'm around." She began, clearly not having planned what to say when she came to join him.

He had no idea what she was getting at in the very least. It might have been a more obvious olive-branch to someone else. If his ability to read social situations was better, he might have realized that she was making a comment that he didn't chase her away for being younger.

She continued, "Mum said we should be nice to you and that you're really smart. Scorpius said you're way better than even him at Potions. Dad said you know a lot of spells and have a dragon Patronus."

"Oh...really?" He was not entirely sure how to take compliments either. Not to mention Potions made him think of his father. Did people in this world always talk so much? He almost could not keep track of her questions. "Erm, I do know a lot of spells, and I do have a dragon Patronus. You are very well-informed." A bit of a cheeky smile curled the corners of his mouth.

"So...I thought that maybe I could be your friend," she declared, as if such a thing was just decided.

But it gave him significant enough pause that he had no idea what to say to her. It was bizarre to offer, in his mind, but was it unkind to refuse? Innocence was rather hard to refuse. He stared at her large, watery-in-a-girly-way, green eyes.

After hurting so many things, he was rather hesitant to hurt anyone or anything. He almost felt _obligated_ not to hurt anyone or anything.

"I don't know if I'd be a very good one," he replied, hesitantly, honestly. In fact, he had nothing even remotely similar to a friend who was a girl. He did not really even have friends. Had friends?

There were no _friends_ , friends by a normal definition which was not his definition. Nobody knew his truth other than his father, not even Scorpius, and no one knew now. It was daunting to think of that sort of emptiness.

"Dad said you probably never had any, so that's okay. My dad didn't have friends before he came to Hogwarts either. The real Hogwarts, not yours. I don't think anyone would make friends there."

So much was said so quickly, from one thing to the next, that he was not sure how to follow what her meaning was – or if there was one - and he had to wonder if he was always going to be so very lost trying to follow conversations. Any conversation, not just one with a twelve-year-old girl.

If she was going to bring up friends and Hogwarts, he could not help but say, "I lost friends when I went to Hogwarts, actually. My one, not yours." Perhaps that would slow her down a bit.

She looked at him completely perplexed. He felt slightly vindicated that he had managed to confuse her with what he said. She was surely confusing him enough.

"Were they in another house?" Lily asked. "Albus said our gran that I'm named for was friends with your dad, but they were in different houses, and that was really hard then if you were a Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"No, they changed," he replied. "We were all in Slytherin."

"And they did not like you anymore?"

"No, they liked me well enough." He looked away for a moment.

"So...what changed?" She looked up at him through those long, reddish eyelashes.

"They didn't respect life well enough."

"And you didn't like them anymore?"

He looked at the trees, "I pretended to."

"Why?"

"Because where I'm from, Lily, you don't have many choices and you have to pretend a lot."

"But...why did they still like _you_ then?"

He licked his lips, "Because I had to pretend not to respect life well enough too."

Sev could not interpret the look on her face, and he knew very well she could not possibly understand. The adults did not understand. What he did not understand was that she did not need to understand his words at all. Nor did she need any fancy Legilimency or Veritaserum.

Even at her age, she had one thing that he could not hope to understand: emotional intelligence. And it just was her sense that all was not right with him that made her take his hand.

"So, you'll be _my_ friend then?" She asked him again.

He looked down at her hand on top of his and nodded, "Yes." He could not get out more than that. He did not know how. He had never known how. After seeing his mother get upset about what his life had become, he had even closed off from her. It was hard to be a part of anything. Even a friendship. He had not been a part of anything, truly, in a very long time.

He couldn't have been even if he had wanted to be. If he was honest, his conscience and his heart could not bear the thought of what friendship with him could cost someone. There was enough to press upon his conscience and his heart already, and no Time-Turner would help him run from that part of it all. It had been enough to wake up each day and know what awaited him sometime, anytime. And he was reminded that it was not sometime for his parents anymore, it was done.

Now, though, now it was his choice. Much of the danger was gone, even with whatever associates of Voldemort's circle remained. It was nothing to his world. He could choose freely now. There was no danger in letting this little girl be his _friend_ ; her eyes would not haunt him at night. He wouldn't have to kill her. It suddenly hurt in a way that made him narrow his eyes and try to push the thoughts away.

Then he decided it just did not matter anymore. She had bulldozed right through him by giving him two things that had been almost wholly denied him his entire life, and all in one fell swoop: friendship and a choice. And she took his hand when he did not know how to reach.

The moment stretched, and almost became awkward, before she thankfully broke the silence and said, "Severus...if there are ever dementors _here,_ do you think your dragon would protect me? All James can get is a mist. He tried and tried after hearing about yours until he was purple in the face."

He could not help but smile. "My dragon would protect those who mean something to me until the very end."

She grinned at him and said, "Because he already has?"

"Yeah," he said, unable to grit out the more proper 'yes.' He was not sure it mattered anymore, not really. His father would never be there to correct his use of language again.

"Dad said you have to be really strong and be filled with loads of love, deep down, to make a Patronus like that at your age. I think that makes you special like him and a very good friend to have." She nodded sweetly at him.

Words were magic, but this day he was learning that lesson in a different way, one he had never been exposed to before.

Sometimes in life, one required a Gryffindor.

* * *

By the time Sev had made it through one week, he was certain he had spoken more than he did in an entire semester in his old world. The attention was unsettling, and he found himself searching the out of the way places of the castle he used for solitude in his old world. Having a father who knew the castle intimately had been instructive to his survival before, and it was somewhat instructive of his survival now as well. He was trying his best to do something he knew he was supposed to do but had never been able to freely and openly practice: being nice.

He had always wanted to be, tried to be, relatively for his world. He never felt he had lived up to his mother's wishes for his kindness, true or not (his father always assured him not true); teenagers had a way of looking at the world strangely, even intelligent ones. Now, he felt, was his opportunity to try to do that. That did not mean it was easy in a world he did not understand, filled with children who behaved in ways he did not understand, saying things he thought – honestly – rather unworthy of breath.

It was more comfortable around the sixth and seventh years, but they saw him as a kid and to be protected; a veritable horde of seventeen year olds who had more ambitions to patronize him (on accident) in a nearly parental and superior way when he was positively certain he was both more mature and far more experienced than they were. If they thought he did not notice that they preferred him around more when studying or doing work than any other time, they'd be quite wrong in the assumption. That had not taken long.

The juggle of this experience was far beyond even his capabilities for control and composure. He had been prepared for fighting, blood, moral ambiguity, and death in a short lifetime. But unfortunately scores of alter-dimensional, annoyingly benevolent teenagers were going to do him in.

At least in some ways his world was far more conducive to the catharsis of teenaged angst, because if you wanted to rage, that was perfectly normal. Here everyone was whiny, not ragey. They would probably think him both dangerous and deranged if he let it out, but that energy had to go somewhere before he bit someone's head off.

That was the reason he found himself loitering outside the classroom that used to be his father's in his world, but had been passed back and forth between Slughorn and his father in this world.

He waited until some third year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs shuffled out before he slid through the open door. Slughorn was rubbing his eyes.

"The young ones are a wreck on the nerves," the professor said to himself, sinking into his chair behind his desk.

Sev could not help but chuckle, but it seemed to startle poor Old Slughorn.

"Merlin's Beard, Severus, you startled me."

"I didn't mean to overhear, sir," he replied.

"No bother, my boy. What can I do for you?" He dropped his hand away from his face. It was uncanny, always, to see the children of former students, and in his case grandchildren too, so his eyes did fix onto those softened dark features.

"I'll try not to be a wreck on your nerves, sir," Sev replied, with a bit of a cheeky smile. He eyed the samples on the desk and began absent-mindedly rearranging them out of habit. "I've rather noticed that many of the rules here are different, so I wanted to ask you about a few things before I went on and did them."

He probably could have asked any of his housemates, and he was intelligent enough to realize it, so it remained to be seen if Slughorn would realize he was asking him because Slughorn could allow him to do something even if it wasn't allowed.

"Well, go on then. Smart of you to ask."

Sev rarely spoke about himself to anyone, and it was something of a process to learn, but necessity had always been a driving force in much of his learning, so he confronted it nonetheless. As awkward as he might sound. He realized even more in this world that he was strange, even in just how he spoke, so it was somewhat doubly awkward for him.

He took a breath. He never realized how much he would miss how his father could either just sift through his thoughts or downright just read him without doing so.

"It's always been hard for me here. I mean at Hogwarts, in general, not just this one." And he might have rambled onward, trying to make sure he was clear but not having much experience at all expressing his _feelings_ , but he had the mind to take a breath and pause to rein in his thoughts before they kept spilling out. "I've never liked large groups." He continued separating the potions samples. "I've never liked things being really loud."

That was rather evident to Slughorn in the fact that the little Snape was, in general, rather quiet. The staff room was rife with all sorts of talk about their timely newcomer. Having the experience to know to never interrupt a teenaged Slytherin talking about themselves, Slughorn had patience in listening.

The boy continued. "I need to be able to get away, be alone sometimes, and that's really tough. In my world, there was screaming. In this world, it's like an explosion of chaotic noises." None of which were all that familiar to him. "I used to go running in the early morning around the lake, sometimes someone on the quidditch team would come but mostly alone. I spent time on the quidditch pitch too. I would still like to especially now that there's no dementors, just so I can think. Or else I'm afraid I'm never going to sleep here."

Slughorn was fairly sure he never would have gotten that much out of the boy's father at this age and that after four years of teaching him. In retrospect, this revelation might have explained a lot. In the moment, it certainly explained that the offspring had far better adjustment, even if he was just as intelligently awkward, and probably even for a heinous world had far better parenting than the father ever experienced. Whether that was thanks to Hermione or Severus or both would only be a guess.

Sad in a way, but it was not particularly a time for an old man to be maudlin about mistakes.

As to the boy's question, whether it was allowed or not was not actually the question; it was more whether he would be allowed in particular, whether it was allowed of everyone or not.

"I think we can come to an arrangement for you to get some peace and quiet," he qualified first, before, as Minerva said, he scared the boy off and they ended up with a hermit. If the dear headmistress had any qualms of his arrangements, he would just say that it had been she who had suggested it. "Let me ask you something first."

"Sure, professor."

"What potion is this?" he asked, tapping his desk where his samples were now arranged in little groupings. The boy blinked at him.

"A minor healing potion, sir," Sev replied, his brow furrowing. What that had to do with what he said, he had no idea.

"How did you know?"

"I just did, sir. Probably because I can smell the dittany? Or the year of the class narrows it down?"

"And, I presume, this is how you would rank them?" Slughorn asked. His eyes might have had a little glint to them.

"Oh, I shouldn't…force of habit…but yes, Professor."

The boy seemed embarrassed.

"It's fine, my boy. You have a very good eye and nose, although a good deal less obvious than your father's, eh?"

That earned a laugh. Sev did, thankfully, have more of his mother's nose.

Slughorn finally began to reveal his reason for asking, clearly having given some thought to what Minerva said, and if the boy needed quiet…Well, if the boy wanted something special, it was only right Slughorn got something special in return. "If there are two things I know very well about your father, Severus, it is that when trust is given it isn't to be violated, and that safety of the students here was of paramount importance to him; I can guess only more so for his son. So if your father let you do that with dementors out there, I will give you the same trust with good faith that he must have thought you capable of having it."

The solemn nod was evidence enough that he had hit the precise right chord. Of all of them, none of them had known the boy's father well, but Slughorn knew far more than most, and that was useful. The aging Potions master then continued, "I would like for you to do something for me, though."

"What is that, sir?" the boy asked, raising a dark brow.

Coming from that world Horace had not really doubted that the boy would want to hear the terms before agreeing.

"I'm not as young as I used to be. I could use a hand with some things as much as you seem to need to time away from your classmates. You could make some the potions for the mediwitch and manage the stock for me, make sure nothing goes bad." With a pat of his belly, he added quietly, "That higher shelves are a bit difficult."

Sev's lips pressed some to hold back a chuckle. Things were rarely amusing in his world. Professor were rarely amusing.

"I helped my father with those sorts of things too, sir." Although, he suspected Slughorn already knew that. And at their Hogwarts, they went through a lot of potions. "So, could I brew what I'd like to as well then?"

"Certainly, I did tell you I would help further your knowledge if I could, even if class would be a rather silly waste for you. So long as you don't blow us both up, whatever potion or research you like," he added, with a chuckle. After watching him brew the other day, the wee time-traveler was probably safer than most apprentices!

"I didn't learn quickly and live this long because I was hesitant of asking questions, sir." No, he knew the well-placed benefit of asking questions or looking up answers himself. Necessity was a very good teacher.

"Very well, then. I would call that a very beneficial arrangement for us both." And Minerva had rather encouraged trying to stay as close to what was routine for the boy, try to minimize some of what was so obviously as different as night and day.

* * *

 **Special thanks to Duj for the review!**

What about all the rest of you? Spare me a moment to at least tell me something you like or what has you reading? There's hundreds of you silent people, and meanwhile I feel like I'm writing for only one of you!

Reviews generally inspire me to write and update faster, wink wink.


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